Urban Folk-issue 4

Urban Folk

Issue 4

November/ December

The Bowmans

Free

for you and me

Urban Folk: issue four

More pages! New staff writers! Great things are happening! We’re expanding our scope with Dan covering Brooklyn and Darren covering a different side of acoustic music all along the East Coast. We’re all thrilled to have the Bowmans fronting this issue, and you’ll find Claire has some inspiring things to say about breaking into the business end of music. I got a lot of positive feedback and emails from people after issue three, which gave me a warm communtiy feeling. Thanks guys. Send us mail, we like it! Hate mail too, we like it all. Thanks to all the sponsors who came through and made this expanded issue happen. Check out their stuff as a way of saying thanks. Oh yeah, email us to be included in upcoming Urban Folk podcasts through Alloy Radio. Good times! -Dave Cuomo, Editor

Contact us for advertising or anything at [email protected]

In This Issue:

On the Cover - the bowmans! (thebowmansmusic.com) Hurricane Katrina Benefit – jon berger tells the story of two victims, and how new york tried to help Pay to Play Scams – dave cuomo looks into showcases at the bitter end and cb’s lounge The Paula – jon berger welcomes a brazilian rocker to new york Brattleboro Fest – darren deicide spends a night with gutter punk folkies in vermont Exegesis Department – with sarah bowman DIY Artist Management – q & a with claire bowman Brian Wurschum – paul alexander profiles the man behind the voyces Busted in Brooklyn - dan costello goes to jail for his music Subway Stories – dave cuomo tells a story about the r.n.c. protests and his first new york performance Antifolk Fest - debe dalton reports from the fort Be an Urban Folk friend! Alec Wonderful – alec dispenses rare advice on acheiving fame myspace.com/urbanfolkzine Get in the Minivan - brook pridemore on tour in arizona

Poetry Page and a Book Review - chris maher and rebecca hirsch The Grateful Dead... - fiction by ed lynch Paul’s Perspective – paul alexander gets writer’s block Crossword puzzle - a contest with a prize by deborah t. CD Reviews – curtis eller, the wowz, creaky boards, gretchen witt, and more...

How you can help... Support your scene while promoting what Back/inside cover - $85 (6.8” x 9.5”)

you do! A lot of artists came to me this issue and said they wanted to buy Full page - $75 (6.8” x 9.5”) an ad just to support what we’re doing and do their part to help keep it Half page - $45 (6.8” x 4.7”) going. Thanks guys! We’re not there yet though. Covering priting costs Third page - $30 is still something we are struggling to do. You can help, while getting (square: 4.8” x 4.8”; tall 2.2” x 9.5”) exposure for yourself. The goal of this magazine has always been to bring in more of an outside audience to what we’re doing, and show people Quarter page - $25 (3.4” x 4.8”) who wouldn’t otherwise know, that there is honest, passionate, and inteligent music thriving in New York City. In order to do this better we need to raise circulation, which means we need your help! None of us have a lot of extra money to throw around, but supporting each other now will benefit all the musicians, clubs, and labels (not to mention the culture at large!) in the long run. A lot of you are not on any label at all, and are putting out your cd’s yourself, or getting your music out through your website. We designed our advertising with this in mind, so that an artist could afford a $25 ad to promote their cd, shows, or even just their website, and the clubs or labels could afford the larger ones. Help us spread the word on every subway seat, every campus lecture hall, and every bathroom stall in every bar. This is your scene and your magazine, and we need your support to keep it going. -DC

Jon Berger on...

benefit for victims of hurricane katrina

by Jon Berger

After Mother Nature had her little tiff with the Gulf Coast, it took a few days to hear from Patsy and Grey. Patsy Grace and Grey Revell met at the open mics, fell in love there, and announced their engagement at the AntiHoot at the Sidewalk Cafe. Their son’s birth was attended by a host of singer/songwriters entertaining Patsy and her womb, inviting Julian to come out into the world. Patsy and Grey presented a warm place for salons, a good space for parties, and extra beds for weary travelers. Patsy and Grey Revell, for their years in New York, provided a much-needed sense of community. Their departure from New York to L.A. and then later from LA to New Orleans, was a tragedy for those

kimya dawson at scenic

left behind – though clearly nothing like the tragedy that befell New Orleans. It wasn’t until Tuesday, August 30 that we in New York got word that Patsy, Grey and Julian had driven 18 hours straight to North Carolina, where family offered them refuge. “We thought we could wait out the storm,” Patsy explains, “We’d have to. We didn’t have money for gas. And we thought maybe we’d be all right – different weather reports said different things.” Their neighborhood ended up with three feet of water, but they weren’t there to see it. “We got saved, though, and finally, a friend just gave us twenty dollars to get out, so we packed some clothes, got in the car, and drove.” Patsy and Grey took turns behind the wheel until finally landing in Charlotte, where Patsy’s brother lives. “We haven’t been able to go back. They’re not letting people back in our neighborhood yet. Soon, I hope. We have to get our stuff.” Like so many coastal refugees, the Revells have to decide where they’ll reside. They had migrated to the musical oasis of N’Orleans, and don’t really want to live elsewhere in the south, but they don’t have the resources to leave. “Julian’s four and a half, and he’s had five homes. He’s in school here, and Grey’s got a job, so we’ll stay here, for now.” Back in New York, the AntiFolk community, like so many others, wanted to do something, wanted to help. “I remember back around 9/11 when I was here in NYC and the rest of the world’s attentions and sympathies were focused on us,” Kathy Zimmer wrote, “People halfway across the country who had never been to New York were genuinely concerned about this city’s well-being.” Zimmer was not one of the thirty acts hastily collected by Danny Kelly, Dina Levy and Jenn Lindsay, organizers of the September 10 all-day benefit at Scenic. Dozens of AntiFolk acts donated their time and CDs from 12-6pm, performing two songs apiece. For these hours and hours of entertainment, there was a suggested cover charge of ten dollars – though many offered much much more. L.E.I. Apparel offered to match whatever funds were collected that day. Included among the performers were such local luminaries as Linda Draper, Lach, Lippe, and Dave

O’Neal, as well as out-of-towners Danny Kelly (from Seattle), Amanda Lynn Perkins (from Mississippi), and Coming Soon (from France). Also playing were international superstars Schwervon and both Adam Green and Kimya Dawson from the Moldy Peaches. In fact, one of the show’s last performances was a brief reunion of those two principals from the Moldy Peaches, together again for the first time in multiple months. The afternoon presented the sense of community that AntiFolk is known for, the kind of thing that Patsy and Grey were once infamous for engendering. It had the same feeling of camaraderie as the annual Tompkins Square Park shows that usually herald in the Summer AntiFolk Festival. This year, there had been no such outdoor event, but the Scenic benefit satisfied similar sensibilities. Though a beneficiary of the event had not been named at the concert, everyone seemed to leave, fulfilled and happy. The benefit at Scenic was great, earning over $2,000, and collecting several hundred CDs. Just days before her European tour and a cross-country move, Kimya Dawson helped implement a system to entertain the youth of New Orleans by collecting CDs for the newly homeless. “Let’s make sure these kids don’t have to go through tough times without good music! It might help them a little to put on some headphones and escape.” The CDs were sent to a network of volunteers who were able to distribute them to the displaced. After much discussion, some of the proceeds of the Scenic event have been earmarked for the Revells, who

are struggling to start anew in Charlotte. “The people have been really nice here,” Patsy explains, “Our cupboard is stocked like it has never been since we’ve been married! It’s frustrating,” she adds, “that my new neighbors have been incredibly helpful and generous, and I did eventually get something from Red Cross, but it’s the people that have been helping most, not the organizations.” Patsy explains that she has friends who’ve relied on institutional support and are still waiting. Not everyone from New Orleans has had their own Scenic benefit “There are people who need to get back to get whatever’s left, and they can’t go home, but they can’t afford to start over, because they have nothing. It’s tough.” Dominick Musella was on hand to record the Scenic Benefit, which will be presented at the Whiskey Ward on Essex Street (south of Rivington) on November 1, 2005. Selections from his six-hour DVD as well as other benefits he’s filmed, will be presented. Entrance charges will go to Families Helping Families, a charity benefiting victims of Hurricane Katrina. scenicnyc.com kimyadawson.com greyrevell.com Whiskey Ward (121 Essex Street, 212-477-2998)

Pay to Play

larry oakes tries to do it right

Erin Regan was surfing the internet when she came across the Bitter End website and followed a link for information on booking at the club. She had only been living in the city for three months. Having found the booking information, she sent in a demo and hoped for the best. She was thrilled to eventually receive an email from Larry Oakes saying that he loved her demo and couldn’t wait to hear her play. He booked her two spots, one for the Bitter End, and one for the lounge run by CBGB’s. Not only this, but her show was going to be broadcast over the internet so that her friends and family could watch it across the country. Within a couple of weeks she was sent ten tickets in the mail, which she happily gave out to her friends to encourage them to come to the show. The day of the first show at CB’s arrived and she got dressed up and headed down to the club with her aunt. She was nervous but excited, hoping that her friends would come and knowing that her family was watching on their computers, including her Dad in prison who was a huge CBGB’s fan and had gathered his cell mates to watch the webcast. They got to the club and Erin walked proudly up to the girl at the door and told her she was there to play. “Can I have your $50, please,” the girl asked her. “What do you mean?” Erin answered surprised. “The money from the tickets. You got your tickets in the mail to sell, right? It’s $5 a ticket.” “Yeah, but I wasn’t able to sell them. I thought people just paid at the door.” “You have to guarantee us ten people.” “I don’t have any money.” Erin was distraught at the realization that all her family was watching and she wouldn’t be able to play. “I’m sorry, you have to pay for the tickets if you want to play.” Erin didn’t know what to do. She felt tricked, and was close to crying. They all stood there in awkward silence for a few minutes. “Get me my checkbook,” her aunt finally said. Erin played that night to a full room of loud people drinking at the bar. Larry sent her a nice email the next day telling her that he really enjoyed her set and that she could book another slot at either of the clubs whenever she wanted. She responded by canceling her show at The Bitter End. She’s pretty sure the check bounced. “Don’t get me wrong,” she tells me now, “Larry’s a nice guy, but he’s running a scam.” * * *

By Dave Cuomo

Larry Oakes came to New York after years in a Vegas show group who made their way traveling around the world performing at resorts. Here in the city he landed a gig playing guitar on tour with Foreigner. Similar gigs followed with Bad Company, Lou Gramm’s solo project, and The Derrek Trucks Band. At 42 he married a singer/songwriter and settled down. “I hated the way she got treated at auditions,” he tells me. “They were ‘pay to play scams.’ You had to guarantee twenty people at $10 a head, and then you had a $12 drink

minimum on top of that. I started the Singer/Songwriter Sessions because I wanted to do it the right way and give new artists a better way to work their way up.” Although artists can get booked from sending in a demo, live auditions are held for the Singer/Songwriter Sessions about once a month. Larry explains the way the show works before the audition starts. If an artist passes the audition, they are given a 15 min. slot at either The Bitter End or CB’s Lounge below the 315 Gallery. The showcase is held every other Sunday at The Bitter End, and every other Tuesday at CB’s from 7 to midnight. There is a $5 cover charge for the show and you must guarantee the club at least a ten person draw. They send you ten tickets which you are supposed to sell, so that when you show up to the club you have $50 to give before you can play. Anything after the first ten people you get to keep, so that if 15 people show up to see you, you can walk away with $25. People are asked at the door which artists they came to see in order to keep track, although their $5 gets them in to see the whole show, not just one act. However, if you can’t bring in ten people, or if you give your tickets away, you are still responsible for the $50. After playing the show once you get a VIP card that gets you into

see the show for free whenever you like. Emily Watts would be considered a success story, bringing enough people in to cover the $50 and even walking out of her show with a little extra money in her pocket. She heard about it from a poster outside The Bitter End and met Larry. Being new to the city and looking to play a show she decided to try out. She didn’t yet understand that she would be responsible for selling the tickets herself. She learned this at the audition, and was a little put off by the idea, but badly wanting to play on stage she decided to go along with it. Also, she says it was a bit of an ego boost having passed the audition, exciting her enough to want to take part. At first she tried to give away the tickets because she felt bad asking her friends for money, but most of them insisted on paying. She handed over the money at the show, some from her friends and some of her own, and played a good set. Right before she went on stage Larry asked her if she wanted a recording of her set for an extra $10. More people showed up to see her than had bought tickets, and in the end she covered the required ten plus some, allowing her to walk away with some extra cash. “I felt bad, like I had taken money from my friends. It felt pretty dirty really,” she tells me. “Honestly I think the whole thing just makes people feel bad about themselves. You’re new here and you want to play a show, but how are you supposed to get ten people to pay $5 for a fifteen minute set? If you can’t do it you feel like you must be a bad musician or something, and if you can do it it’s probably because you bothered your friends to come, and now you just have to feel bad for taking their money.” She says she doesn’t entirely regret the experience because it was a chance to play on stage and because it was nice for her friends and family to get to see her play online, but she would not do it again, if nothing else because she doesn’t want to support the show. The idea that someone might be a bad musician because they couldn’t get ten people to pay $5 for a fifteen minute show is absurd, but it is a feeling that becomes common among musicians in New York. The culture here has become such that an artist needs to be just as skilled at marketing and public relations as they are at making music, if not more so. Most of what a club wants to know in order to book you isn’t what you sound like, it’s how many people you can draw. Musicians are supposed to be shy, neurotic, reclusive, and self-depreciating; as artists it goes with the job description. Throw these same artists into an arena where they are supposed to know how to consistently bring out 50 people on their own if they want to play shows at all, and a lot of them are going to get a lot more self depreciating. Especially in a city like New York where there are more musicians than fans to go around most of the time. It becomes a sort of popularity contest. Even on a bill with a number of acts, each individual artist is responsible for filling the club on their own because more than likely the crowd will only stay for the one act they came to see. And, all this needs to be done with only minimal help from the club with promotion. What’re we to do?

* * * East Village singer/songwriter Joff Wilson who also played the showcase described the thought process, “If I don’t sell enough tickets, does that mean I’m not good enough? Wait a second, I passed the audition, of course I’m good enough. Maybe I just passed the audition to sell tickets...” He has few regrets about playing it though. “I just like to play anywhere I can,” he says. “Maybe I’ll play it again, although if I have to sell again I might be discouraged.” He is from upstate New York where he says the culture is different. “People pay a cover to see a whole show, not just one act. Then the artists all split the door money together. It’s good because people who go to see the headlining acts watch the openers and get turned on to new music. It’s good for the musicians too, because they can get exposure and build a following by opening for bigger acts. It’s a win-win situation.” I asked him why he thinks people in the city are less likely to stick around for more than the one act they came to see. “There’s so much to do in the city, I think there’s a lot of competition. Really the audiences are only ripping themselves off though. With the Singer/Songwriter Sessions I think Larry’s heart is in the right place, but he’s also a smart guy. He knows what he’s doing. He’s making a capitalist venture out of booking bands.” When I walked up to the Bitter End to interview Larry he turned to the door man and by way of introducing me said, “Hey, this is the guy who wrote the piece about how clubs should be promoting the artists and try to develop a built in audience. Man, I would love to see that! That’s exactly what we need around here.” Later I followed up on this and asked him what he thinks is making it so hard for artists to break through these days. “The whole industry changed. Live music itself is struggling. It’s part of this pre-manufactured corporate mentality. It started with the labels. They stopped giving artists the opportunity and time to grow and instead went for quick profits. It shows in the fabricated music they’re putting out. Now, if you can’t sell albums right away you get axed. That same attitude is filtering down to the club level. If you can’t bring in people right away you get axed.” Larry sees his showcase as a way around this problem. He says it is a chance for artists to play at really great clubs with a minimal necessary draw. The show is “really good for people who are serious about their careers and take the time to promote themselves, passing around their email list, selling or giving away CD’s.” He states that numerous acts have come through that went from a draw of about 8 to 10 people to 30 or 40 by playing the Singer/Songwriter Sessions. He says he can only remember two artists who had complaints about having to sell the tickets, and they were people who were “just looking for freebies. That’s not what this show is for. It’s for people who can recognize the opportunity and want to be serious and really promote themselves. They’re the ones who are going to make it.” In the spirit of fairness I went out of my way to try and interview artists who had made good use of the showcase. I

knew that Steph (who didn’t want her last name used) had played it a few times, and had even been given a half hour slot her third time playing. For this one she had to guarantee twenty people, making her responsible for $100. She says if she were to do the show again she would make sure to space them out, because it became awkward asking her friends to pony up the $5 to see her all the time. Other than the opportunity to say she compare venue such as The Bitter End and CB’s Lounge, she says the most valuable part about playing the show was that she now understands that New York is a pay to play city. “It’s just the way it works around here. Even if they aren’t as direct about it, it’s generally the way shows in this city work at our level. I’m looking forward to the day when I can play for free. That’s when I’ll know I’ve moved up.” She says that she did expand her email list, and that it is good to be able to say she played at The Bitter End, but when asked she said that the show was worthwhile only for the opportunity to see if she liked playing at CB’s or The Bitter End better (she feels she fits in better at the Bitter End). “Also I was able to recommend some friends who did it, I guess that was a good thing.” I felt like she was holding back, so I asked her what her opinion would be if I wasn’t going to be printing what she said. “Well, I don’t play the showcase anymore,” she finally said, “I don’t like whoring out my friends to make a living for someone else.” “The show is only sketchy if you don’t know any better,” says Cassandra Kubinski. She played the show last December and now books regular gigs at The Bitter End, not through the Singer/Songwriter Sessions. “For someone who understands how it works, it can be beneficial.” She also adds that she scoured the website thoroughly and found no mention of the fact that you’ll be responsible for selling the tickets and paying the difference. She recommends it to artists in addition to open mics as a good way to gain a few fans and maybe find a backup guitarist if you need, but says that’s about the limit of what you’ll get out of it. “I can’t imagine any one in the music business who knows what they’re doing coming down. Talent doesn’t matter there. I think it’s inappropriate for someone like Larry, who’s been in the business and knows what he’s doing, to ask people for money for this, especially considering the mediocrity of the acts.” “I like to try and give everyone a chance,” says Larry. This is why he usually accepts about 80% of people from their auditions and demos. “You do have to bring in 10 people at $5 each, that’s just business. You’re going to have to do that if you want to play a good venue like CB’s or The Bitter End.” I asked him how it was different from the audtitions his wife used to play. “Those were outrageously expensive. 20 people at $10 a head, plus the drink minimum, that’s just undoable for new artists. More than that though is the attitude. She got treated terribly at those things. I was an artist, so I know what it’s like. I treat people the way I would want to be treated as an artist, and give them the chance to play at really great clubs. It’s different than an open mic, too. At an open mic you only get a few songs at any random

time, and you only play for other musicians. Here you pick your time slot so you can promote it and have people come to see you, instead of waiting around until one o clock in the morning to play one song for nobody. Plus, since everyone is bringing ten people you get to play for a whole new crowd and get some really good exposure.” I went to go see the show itself a couple weeks ago, and I found the sign on the wall by the sound booth a little telling. It said “recordings: CD’s - $35, VHS - $25, tape - $5.” There was some smaller writing too which I struggled and squinted to read. Next to each price it said “you provide blank CDR, you provide blank VHS, and you provide blank tape.” I laughed a little that after bringing in $50 to play, than adding on $35 for the recording, a total of $85 for fifteen minutes of fame, that the club couldn’t spring the extra quarter for a CD-R. It’s would be easy to write off what Larry, The Bitter End, and CBGB’s are doing as cheap and greedy. This is not my intention. What they are doing is simply a more glaring example of what artists in the city go through at the ground level. Larry’s show does do things that a free open mic can’t, and the feelings that selling tickets to one’s friends brings up is similar, although certainly a little stronger, to the feelings that bugging your friends to come see you at Arlene’s Grocery, where there’s a $7 cover (but you are not required to cover any difference out of pocket), or even to a free show where you need to bring in 30 – 50 people if you ever want to get booked again. It’s supposed to be about playing music and entertaining people, not asking your friends to come see you as a favor to make you look good. Unfortunately though, this is the reality if you want to get shows. It gets even trickier when scene politics come into play, where if an artist tries too hard they risk being seen as engaging in too much shameless self promotion. Again, what’re we to do? Larry’s final advice was to “Keep doing it. It only takes that one right person to see you and give you your break.” I like to think there’s a better way than waiting around until some executive finally comes along and does things for you. Steph tells me that she has found more success as of late booking and promoting shows at studios spaces she rents out and sharing the bills with her friends. Pulling from a similar draw and playing with people who are connected by their music, people are more likely to come out and see a whole show when they are familiar with more of the artists and the styles of the other acts go well together. By renting the venue herself she is not responsible to club owners anal about draw. I think it makes a lot of sense that if we don’t like the way clubs treat their musicians we should find other ways to hold shows or find better clubs. There are always some out there that do things differently. New musicians coming here are bound to get sucked into clubs more than ready to take their money, but an artist who really wants to work hard for a career as a musician will look a little harder and find better ways. Singer/Songwriter sessions: nysongwriters.com

The Paula

welcome to the big time

So I arrive at the C-Note just on time, put out the list for people to sign up, and this scruffy guy comes up to me. He puts his name down, then he starts talking. His language is a little slow, but that’s about what I expect from an east village musician, and I bide my time talking to him. He says his name is Marcelo, and he’s come up from Brazil to make his way in the New York music scene. I tell him that I spent some time in Brazil, but I can’t figure out where he’s from. If it’s not Rio or São Paulo, I’m at a loss. I draw the worst imaginable map of the coast to pinpoint his neighborhood in South America’s largest country, but it comes to nothing. The name Minas Gerais sounds familiar, but not enough. I end up pretending to recognize his state. Marcelo’s English accent is really good, but his vocabulary’s limited, so there are often long stalls as he struggles to find the right word, and his sentence structure was meek, at best. Of course, when I was in Brazil, I spent a month helplessly pointing at things, hoping the nation would give up their silly Portuguese and suddenly speak wonderful East Coast English (no such luck). Marcello’s use of my language is infinitely better than my use of his. We figure each other out. Marcelo de Paula, who performs and records as the Paula, has been doing the solo thing since the last century, after his 1990s Monsters of Rock arena-touring group, Virna Lisi, fell apart. He was bass player and songwriter, and he shows me his press kit, which is in Portuguese, so I nod and say, “Mm-hm.” Maybe it’s the language barrier, but Marcelo doesn’t seem like he’s bragging. I’ve met other people coming to New York from outside the country, and there’s often evidence that they were big, but subscribed to Liza’s lyrics, “If I can make it there…” so here they are. Whatever. Marcelo seems like he had a successful career as artist and producer way down south that he gave up to try out life in the Big City. I try to ask him why he didn’t move to his local big cities, Rio and São Paulo, both substantially larger than NYC, and with a slightly easier commute to his home. He shrugs and smiles. And he waits for his turn at the C-Note. It’s one of those days with a lousy turnout, so we chat for a while before hitting the stage. He wants to do something different; not the same old same old with Virna Lisi, or a straight samba style, or whatever other styles they have down in Brazil. He wants to mix up influences, he explains, so New York is the place to be. “We’ll see,” I say, and the open mic begins. There aren’t

by Jon Berger

many people, so Marcelo gets up on stage pretty quickly, sitting down with his guitar. And he makes me stand up. And he makes me dance. This cat is good! Marcelo’s obviously got guitar chops, and there’s a driving intensity in his playing, adding in some of those foreign dance rhythms that made World Music so big a couple years back. The first song is hooky, fun and strong. “What does ‘solameechi’ mean?” I ask upon completion. “So lamente?” he replies, “It means… ‘only once’.” “Don’t get fooled again?” I suggest. Cool. The music is great, and there’s something liberating about these nonsense syllables coming out of his mouth. He could be saying anything; I can’t tell. His lyrics are a beautiful blank slate. I’m worried that it might turn out all of his songs are about monkey decapitation… Marcelo goes up a couple more times, tells me about his website, and hands me a demo. “My band… they couldn’t get visas. My family will be coming soon.” Marcelo’s taken the plunge. He’s placing all bets on making it in New York. Without the language. Without connections. “Good luck,” I tell him. Two weeks later, he’s got a starting show on a Sunday at the Sidewalk Café. It’s a crappy slot, but he has maybe twenty people there for him. They’re quiet, attentive. Maybe he’s got some family in New York. Maybe he met them at open mics, like me. Marcelo’s already got something going on, though, and he’s been in town for barely a month. “Great show,” I say, and he bows in appreciation. “I want to start writing in English,” he says, “Want to make this all better. “In Brazil,” he continues, “They want to go back. To Virna Lisi, to the old rock style. Me, I want more. I want to go forward.” thepaula.com.br/

Gutter Rock

a night at brattleboro fest

Hello tri-state people! I come with tales of Brattleboro, VT. Indeed…Brattleboro. Have you ever heard of it? If you said “no”, join the club that I was in only about 6 months ago. That was until I met Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains at a gig in some random, emptied out theatre in Brooklyn. They had all the elements of an excellent roots-rock outfit: a washtub bass, beat up acoustic guitar, a trumpet, a harmonica, and some snarly, from-the-gut vocals. I loved it. And, they were from Brattleboro, VT. Over time, I’d come to know Brattleboro well. Brattleboro is a small-town right in the southeast corner

by Darren “Deicide” Kramer

Brattleboro Fest”. The descriptions were vague. “A minor conspiracy with plans to claim the streets of Brattleboro, Vermont for two days of rock music, games, wingnut subversion, and ‘drunk and disorderly’ citations,” the website said. After a flat tire on the GWB, I finally made it to Brattleboro, and barely anybody was hanging out in Harmony Parking Lot! Only handful of rag-tag kids smoking cigarettes next to cardboard boxes sat around. I didn’t bother to ask what the cardboard box was about. I guess I was a little afraid to ask. “What’s goin on?” I thought. Turns out just about

johnny hobo of Vermont. The town rests just west of the VermontNew Hampshire border. In fact, I discovered that when I was there, you literally can walk to New Hampshire from Brattleboro. Underneath this quaint little Vermontian town exterior also resides what has been called the “gutter rock” scene. Droves of tweaked out, anarcho-punk kids that hang out in a big, local parking lot called Harmony Parking Lot and throw completely acoustic shows in random public places. Most of them call these shows “gutter rock shows”. This summer I went down to play “Another Summer in

everyone was skinny dipping down by the river. There were a few people talking about fabled tales of the night before as if it had happened years ago. Apparently someone had driven a car without license plates, risking life and personal liberty, just to get down to Brattleboro Fest. Once there, some kids started doing skateboarding tricks off the car. Fireworks were blasting off and skateboards were flying to the point that the police rolled into the parking lot. After a little conversation, the cops told them to keep it down, and that there wasn’t any trouble. That was when I definitively

knew that I wasn’t in the NYC area! The show that night was to be at Common Ground, a local coffeeshop and activist center in Brattleboro. I’m not sure what happened, but the venue could no longer host the event, so it was moved to someone’s garage. In a rickety old garage, with rickety old wooden boards for a floor, and a rickety old lamp with a single bulb to light the place, the show took place. Brattleboro kids are quite the motley bunch. Imagine hobo style clothes, patchwork pants, and unkept hair on everyone. Many an ass-of the-pants had fallen out from these kids’ pants, and it was obviously apparent they had the sewing skills to remedy that. Pat The Bunny of Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains kicked things off with an excellent sing-along solo set with just him and his guitar. It was infectious. You couldn’t help but scream out the words if you knew them, and that’s exactly what the crowd did. With every last ounce of carbon dioxide in their blood, people exhaled through raspy vocal chords every word, and with every muscle in their legs, they stomped that wooden floor. “You feeling that bounce?” I asked the girl next to me. “No,” she said as she swigged down her can of PBR. I watched on with fake assurance. Pat was followed by a set from Lemon Juice Effect; quirky, pop-rock songs about…well, rocking out. This was the first moment that people really started to get down. This was especially good for me. The crowd was nice and warmed up. Their muscles were stretched and their legs filled with blood for the boogie. I kicked it off on a spoken word piece and ended on a cover of “Great Balls of Fire”, so the gamut was pretty wide. People boogied with a furious frenzy. Mark Leonard then delivered his unique brand of folk-punk. I was very impressed with his quick guitar strumming skills and passionate lyrics. The crowd was fixated on his lyrical content and stared with a wonderous intent. I definitely felt he was bringing something different to the folk-punk genre at that moment. The final act of the night was Cars Can Be Blue. They describe themselves on their website as “simple, fun, catchy songs that combine bubblegum pop with an off-beat, sometimes even naughty sense of humor.” That pretty much hits the nail on the head. In some respects, they reminded me of Weezer and The White Stripes in a head on collision. Of course this is all with heaping helpings of pop. But nothing over-distorted here. It was just Becky on an acoustic guitar and Nate on a snare with a couple of cymbals. They achieved an amazingly full sound with just these two instruments and their singing. I am impressed yet again. And it was definitely a nice way to cap the evening as everyone bopped with the jumpy beats. But how mistaken I was to think this was the end of the night. On it was to a house party for further mayhem. Allow me to explain something here. In Brattleboro, you don’t just pop a pill. You grind that shit up and find a different orafice to put it down! Needless to say, the PBR and illicit drugs ran like the River Jordan at this party only to encourage “ultimate makeout” game and “naked patrol”. Maybe it’s my age, but I felt like I would have been engaging in perversion had I joined the games. But with an equal amount of perverse

stigma, I watched “ultimate makeout” ensue. It was only a minute or two into watching the game did I realize that there weren’t many rules to this game. I see. That’s clever. To shroud drunken debauchery in a “game”. The pilled out, drunken madness was intense. I almost felt like I was secondhand rolling from watching it all. But I know I wasn’t. Especially when I tried to have a conversation with a Brattleboro-ite only to realize that they are completely rolled out of their mind and have no idea what I’m talking about. Imagine trying to get together a game of Texas Hold ‘em with money on the table only to realize that 1/3 of the table has no idea how to play the game and just wanted to touch the cards because it felt good during their ecstasy roll. It was at this moment that I felt I had gotten a monstrous dose of Brattleboro tweakiness. It felt like my cue to run back to what suddenly seemed like a sober and sane NYC-area. But how? There were droves of people on “naked patrol” outside that I’d have to wade through. “One more beer and quaint goodbyes is all I need,” I thought to myself. I strolled outside. Indeed, naked patrol was everywhere. A squad of about 7-10 young boys, completely naked and… well…patrolling. Suddenly, one of them hits the crowd. “Man down!” I scream. Naked patrol is right on the case! In a moment of extreme fright, the kid’s pasty white ass starts rolling towards this sheer cliff near the side of the house. “Whoa!” I screamed out. No need to fear though, as someone from the naked patrol grabs him and helps him toss his lunch over the side of the cliff. I guess there is a good use for the naked patrol. As for what the “naked” part of the equation has anything to do with this, your guess is as good as mine. I saw my window of opportunity. “Bye everyone!” I screamed. Those cognizant enough to respond said “See ya!” There you have it. Truly a night in Brattleboro that defines “gutter rock” in many ways. I guess the website can finish this article when it explains the activities of the next day. “The festival is over. Get the fuck out of our town! We’ll miss you but must warn you to escape before ‘Another Winter in Brattleboro’ hits.” It’s 4 hours to Brattleboro from NYC, and while that’s certainly no small drive, it may just be worth it to see what happens when folk comes crashing into the nihilism, snot, and grime that is punk rock. Darren “Deicide” Kramer www.darrendeicide.com www.myspace.com/darrendeicide Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains www.myspace.com/johnnyhobo Mark Leonard www.myspace.com/rabidpossum Cars Can Be Blue www.myspace.com/carscanbeblue

Exegesis Department justify the music

Sarah Bowman,

with Sarah Bowman

Why the hell did you write this song?

The Kitchen Song We’re spending too much time in the kitchen. You always said you would die this way. I caught hold of your hand today. I thought you were gonna cry; you were terrified. We’re spending too much time in our heads these days. I always thought I could hide this way. There’s no room for love in this city. Seek safety in arms. Embracing but armed To the teeth.

For fear of what can be read on our faces. On my face. And after all this time we’re estranged somehow Living in fear Of strings and games Holding a flame causes pain it’s insane to try to live this way poker your face wear a strong sturdy brace and you’ll be OK. You didn’t notice me peeking over your wall today I covered my tracks put it all back in place

but I saw the look on your face on your face On your face. We’re spending too much time in the kitchen. You always said

The Kitchen Song was actually written in the living room... and another song, the Williamsburg Bridge, was written in the kitchen of an apartment in the East Village that sadly, is no longer my home. So many things in my life have changed since I wrote that song... but now — a year later; the sentiment in the story hasn’t changed... at all. When am I going to become a “grown -up” who can venture out into the world of possible intimacy without fear? When will I stop dwelling on the probability that people who are at times very close will inevitably experience a period of distrust and strive to ruin what they have built in order to regain a sense of freedom? Speaking of dwelling, what was that Onion article, “Man Calls off Search for Self after 38 Years.” …And there’s the picture of him on the couch, laying in self-absorption appearing as if he has experienced nothing during this quest but living in his head. I hope I don’t bring people to THAT place when they hear me tell the story of this time of love in New York, but there is a strong element of introspection in it. The song is delivered from the perspective of a very vulnerable, very skeptical and confused but passionate and loving person (who, me?) who would rather seek to understand why things are as they are than accept them and live according to rules and advice. I can’t help it, I’m from the Midwest. It’s not natural for me to have short-lived relationships, watching people come and go without explanation and without exploration. More than anyone I know, I carry around the common fears of attachment and abandonment... but I’d rather go through shit again and again and again than avoid it to become a rock solid heartless rock... star. The structure of the song is pretty standard, with the exception of the brief pseudo polyphonic segment which is how my father’s Gregorian chanting or my old days with the Baltimore Symphony chorus still creep into my anti-classical folk music. thebowmansmusic.com

Claire Bowman

on DIY artist management

interview by Dave Cuomo

Along with singing with Sarah in The Bowmans and singing back up in Lowry, Claire Bowman has been serving as manager for both groups since last spring. We did this interview on an East Williamsburgh roof top during a recent Lowry photo shoot, and over email. DC: How did you end up becoming Lowry’s manager? CB: First off, I’m a huge fan of his music and his album. It was that Saturday in March when it snowed and snowed and it was so beautiful. Alex and I went to Hanger Bar, and sat near the big snow flurry view windows. We decided, with his album due to come out in a couple months, he needed to plan a tour. I asked, “well, how would you go about planning something like that?” He told me what he hoped for, I made

Alex and Claire at Hanger Bar suggestions on how I could help make it possible. We got so worked up talking about it, we closed our tab, ran back to the apartment, pulled out a road atlas and started charting. I remember the Johnson brothers were home, and Eric. They chimed in with places we should go and call so-and-so and it started going from there. You asked how I became his manager, not how I came to book his tour. Well, basically, once I started getting bookings, I discovered I needed to send mailers and promotional materials places and put the shows in the local listings. I also needed to get discs out to folks ahead of time for them to even consider booking us. And we started talking about how we were going to make money, which led to discussions about merch, so I sort of assumed responsibility for a lot of

stuff and naturally assumed the management position. He did eventually ask me formally, of course. DC: What experience did you have before you booked the Couchtown tour? CB: Nothing directly related to music promotion and management, but a lot of work world stuff. Eric lent me his book on managing artists, and in the Intro section it said the best background for an artist’s manager to have is A) tour management experience (which I didn’t have before Couchtown) and B) a degree in Psychology. Well, I have a BA in philosophy and psychology, and an MA in Counseling psychology. There’s a LOT of psychology in promotion. I’m always aware of how something that strikes me – an image (or musician’s logo) stays in my mind and leads to vague or crystallized recognition of the band, and the emotional association with the band I get from their image. That’s called “branding,” I guess. I’m such a nerd. Other than that, I have done a lot of project development. I helped form legislation (the Cockfighting bill – ha ha) for the U.S. Senate (Tom Harkin), I developed a 180 page web site that became the catalyst for restructuring the way our departments worked together in HR for John Hopkins University. That was a monster because, in trying to translate our operations into a web index, I discovered many holes in our systems and things we weren’t capitalizing on. So, I had to help resolve the real-life operational problems in order to move forward with the web site. That’s a lot like planning tour. I also bought a house once, including applying for and receiving grant funding toward our down payment. I love projects. DC: How did you go about booking the tour without having national connections and contacts? CB: I was interning at OddMob records at the time. So, I used MusiciansAtlas.com to get a start. But it’s REALLY limited. I connected with a lot of real and virtual friends on MySpace who often knew real friends with connections in target areas. I used Google a lot to find venues. I won’t divulge everything about how I select venues, but there’s

promoting shows, checking listings, and keeping everyone in the loop as to sound check time, departure time, driving time, you know, details. I’m like a touring camp counselor. See? Counseling. Tying my crazy background all together. On our tour, I was the one who needed counseling the most, actually. It’s a STRESSFUL job. And I had JUST finished my MA the DAY BEFORE tour started. Point is, DC: Would you say at the time when you started booking despite the challenges, I LOVE tour managing. You said the tour, with the difficulties of doing something like that I was weird or something because I love booking and from scratch, that it was more of an ego boost or an ego managing tours. But hey. I guess it’s my thing until I move blow? on to the next thing that psych background at work again. But mostly, I just spent weeks of 15 hour days where I wouldn’t get up from the computer to take a dump or eat until it became a crisis while working on this stuff. I’m sorry if that’s gross. I have a habit of neglecting myself when I’m on a project. As ADD as I am, when I get on a project I can be excessively focused.

CB: When I first started? I felt COMPLETELY overwhelmed and incompetent. I cried a lot. I got stuck a lot. I got a lot of rude responses from venue booking people like, come on lady, this is a business and you’re a nobody with no draw in this town. But then I had the super highs of getting bookings in awesome venues like The Mill in Iowa City, which is the best place to see live music in that town. I think The Elbo Room in Chicago is a cool club, and Subterranean. It was so cool to see everybody on the marquis at Subterranean, even though it was a sparse show – but something good came out of that, which I won’t go into right here. Where else was good…The Milestone in Charlotte, Radio, Radio! in Indianapolis, Red Star Bar in Baton Rouge, Davey’s Uptown in Kansas City, D-Note in Arvada, CO, Walnut Room in Denver, Rubber Gloves in Denton, TX. They were virtual victories. Some of the places were not what they were cracked up to be when we got there, or they were super venues with NO built-in crowd. But getting the bookings was a high.

DC: Do you feel like you’re now a professional (whatever that means), or do you still feel like an oddball outsider? CB: Back and forth. A professional should probably have real connections. But now I’ve got this amazing experience of having managed that national tour, and I made a ton of connections along the way. It’s like going from novice to professional in one month. You know that scene in Team America where they have the montage? Like that. DC: What’s the one thing someone should know before attempting to book their first tour?

CB: ONE thing? Start MONTHS in advance!! I’m not kidding. MONTHS. I’m freaking out right now because I’m just getting started booking our January tour. Can I give TWO pieces of advice? It’s important to KNOW your goals. Oh – and ANOTHER thing - here’s something that’s really true: It never hurts to ASK, no matter how impossible you think something might be. Go ahead and ask the White Stripes if you can be their next opening act on tour. Why DC: What do your duties as manager entail now? not? CB: I’m not really sure. Real managers have connections, I can’t imagine asking somebody something like that ever and they theoretically get label people to your shows and ruined anyone’s career. they get bookings at hot clubs with awesome lineups or And it’s good to know ahead of time that the first tour is something. And if you’re not sure why label interest is highly unlikely to profit. important, it’s because they put money up front for things like tour. It’s a huge upfront investment to launch your own DC: Is this something that anyone can do? What kind of tour. person does it take? Actually, I’m not really sure what real managers do, but what I consider my management responsibilities are booking, CB: That’s a tough question. Well it takes someone which I don’t take a separate cut for because that’s somehow with a lot of self-discipline, who can multitask and stay on illegal, promotion, merch, mailing list, website, myspace, and task at home. You have to be able to see where problems EPK updates, budgeting, advising on entering festivals and lie and identify solutions, give things a chance and go to the like, distribution when I get to it. Responding to people plan B when too many resources are being sucked into a who ask for Mp3s, ASCAP or other membership, copywrite failing scheme, learn from mistakes, plan ahead, anticipate stuff, getting promo discs to the right folks, which included the worst (I’m a pessimist, so that was up my alley), track radio for a while but Holy Shit that’s time consuming! And everything, manage personalities, be assertive and flexible really tough. -- which is more than I can be all the time --and come up Managing tour is a WHOLE nuther story. It’s a 24- with systems to best track everything in a comprehensible 7 job with all kinds of things that could come up. Mostly way. Gotta be good at letting everyone know what the plans budgeting, paying musicians, distributing per diems, contacts, are, too. venue liaison, scheduling, sleeping arrangements, food, ugh – the worst part – assigning designated drivers, taking care of thebowmansmusic.com the broken down vehicle, assigning roadie responsibilities, lowrymusic.com

Brian Wurschum

the voice of the voyces

In case you haven’t heard of them, The Voyces, named for the Moody Blues song “The Voice,” are a New York City band long known for their tight harmonies and wellcrafted songs. Brian Wurschum doesn’t consider himself The Voyces without band-mates Laurel Hoffman and Frank Carino, but even a cursory inspection of album credits for these East Village darlings reveals that not only does Brian play guitar and sing lead vocals in the band, but he is usually the band’s sole songwriter. In addition to playing within the confines of a well-known band, Brian Wurschum has achieved much as a solo performer since learning a few chords on his dad’s 1969 Hofner. Brian has traveled the country many times over. He has opened for international acts. He was on the Late Show with David Letterman in 1999 after Letterman’s producer saw Laurel and Brian singing in Washington Square park, and he has even had songs on several since failed television shows, such as Nick Freno: Licenced Teacher, which aired from 1996-1998, and most notably in 2003, Brian and The Voyces had their song “Relate To Me” included on the soundtrack of singer/songwriter Jack Johnson’s short surf film, Thicker Than Water. Brian has released two self-produced solo albums, The Ups and Downs from 2001, which to no one’s surprise features the vocal talents of one Laurel Hoffman, and Brian’s 2003 effort, Anorexic Demographic. Additionally, Brian has recorded several other albums with various ensembles, such as 1994’s now out of print Mr. Night, recorded in his native California, featuring one of Brian’s rare songwriting collaborations on the song “Awake, Alone, Alive,” which he co-wrote with Laurel Hoffman, to The Voyces’ album The Angels of Fun, which Brian composed in its entirety and then co-produced at New York City’s Soundbox Studio in 2002. Meanwhile, Brian reports that several of The Voyces’ songs are also due to be included in a new National Lampoon movie called Adam and Eve. Raised in the sleepy SoCal locale of Newbury Park, California, about 30 miles north of Los Angeles’ sprawling metropolis, Brian Wurschum was not ever encouraged to enter the world of entertainment, and yet through the many records his mother always had in rotation, Brian found musical motivation on hand even from his days in the crib. Beginning on the drums and bass, Brian learned guitar last. By the time he was twelve, he had begun forming bands with his friends, bands with such era-appropriate names as “Rough Justice” and “Talisman”—bands whose names remind us all of a different time in music. Brian recalls, “It was really intoxicating stuff. Our outfits were waterproof.” For a singer/songwriter with such a captivating voice, it

by Paul Alexander

is perhaps surprising to note that despite being a multiinstrumentalist at a young age, Brian didn’t start singing in public until he was eighteen. Even then it wasn’t by choice, but was because his band couldn’t find a singer. Today, Brian plays mainly guitar, though he maintains a love for the bass and the drums, and suggests that he can “fake it on the piano some” as well—all worthy talents to maintain, considering the fact that he typically writes and records songs entirely on his own before playing live with other musicians. There are exceptions to Brian’s music monopoly, such as his occasional collaboration with Laurel Hoffman, but for the most part, he has always been a solo artist.

the voyces at rest According to Brian “There are a handful of artists that slay me often, so I love them the most and would consider them my main influence—artist such as Pink Floyd, Peter Gabriel, Steely Dan, Paul Simon, Randy Newman, and The Eagles.” Brian realizes that to many, his influences are, “for the most part, extremely unhip,” and he wishes that he felt stronger about newer artists, but says, “Most new large acts strike me as frauds—The lyrics. The melodies. The clothes.” Even still, Brian is the first to admit, “Any song which kills me, influences me in some capacity, and thousands of songs have killed me.” Suggesting that most recently he was slain by the song “Wall Of Death” by the British singer/songwriter Richard Thompson, while adding that local artists such as the elusive singer/songwriter Don Freda, Antifolk icon Barry Bliss, and Linda Draper are also constant sources of inspiration. In addition, Brian also owns up to harboring a weakness for the Nigerian/British songwriter Sade, made famous in the 1980s by her song “Smooth Operator.” He has a fondness for another British group, The Darkness, while even admitting, “50 Cent makes me happy…I can’t help it.” Talented people like Laurel Hoffman are drawn to Brian’s thoughtful songwriting and delicate execution, yet he seems

genuinely awed by having the continued opportunity to work with other talented New York City artists such as Laurel or Linda Draper, and many remember Brian’s work with such artists quite fondly. As poet, performance artist and general pest Jon Berger recently reminisced, “The vocal interplay between Brian and Laurel was always amazing, I wonder why she’s not around anymore.” For all the success and near misses with fame Brian Wurschum has enjoyed over the past ten years or so with his band, he remains just as happy playing as a solo artist for audiences of all shapes and sizes—though he always prefers an attentive crowd to a large one. Brian has had some great shows at some of the City’s greatest rooms, from The Sidewalk Café to The Bitter End and The Knitting Factory, but he says, “There really aren’t any special places. There are special nights. You know?” Brian is also very gracious about the eclectic fan base he has amassed over the years, counting himself lucky for all the fan mail he receives from everyone from teenagers to the elderly. Admittedly, he draws a larger audience when he plays with his band than when he plays solo, but no matter the musical manifestation, Brian Wurschum is an inspiring and amusing presence live, as fellow singer/songwriter Brian Speaker says, “Brian writes the most beautiful lyrics, and he is so sharp—in-between songs he had us all laughing.” Brian Wurchum used to tour quite a bit and it’s something he misses, but lucky for those of us here in New York City, his days on the road are for the most part over. These days, Brian passes much of his time alongside the brilliant Amy Hills, within the walls of Engine Room Audio where he works both as an engineer and a studio musician of sorts, making cameos on many artists’ albums such as David LK Murphy’s Home to You EP. Brian works in the studio a few days a week “for the rush.” Beyond his day-to-day Engine Room experience, his only real aspirations at the moment are to remain comfortable in his own skin and to continue to work on improving his craft and himself, as he endeavors to improve his narrative focus, and ultimately end up “someplace increasingly less self-centered.” Nevertheless, with or without The Voyces, Brian Wurchum is a voice worth hearing. thevoyces.net

I Was a Rock n Roll Vandal! a true story

by Dan Costello

FACT #1: I was arrested in Williamsburg for hanging flyers, as part of a crackdown on vandalism initiated by Mayor Bloomberg. FACT #2: A week later I would travel to the UK to participate in the Summer Antifest 2005, a celebration of lo-fi, electronica and acoustic punk (I guess my acoustic lo-fi folk-hop fits in there somewhere.) FACT #3: I was caught flyering for my UK send-off concert, booked at my neighborhood wine bar STAIN on Grand and Humboldt in Williamsburg. THE ARREST: At 11:32PM on Tuesday July 5. Three days til my send-off show. I’ll walk to Bedford and flyer outside North Six and Galapagos. I put on my shoes, grab my license, my bag of flyers and a roll of tape. The walk from my place to Bedford Ave. takes 25 minutes. I post along the way at intersections already marked by some flyer or other (music, moving van, etc.) There are some cops eating at Kellogg’s Diner. At last I get to North 6th St. and Berry. This is a popular music spot, as is evident by the number of flyers – some peeling, fading, or obviously posted recently - up on the light poles. The paper hanging on each pole could fill several notebooks. I hang a couple quarter-page flyers on each light pole (over expired flyers), and begin walking home. Ten steps later, a black Chevrolet Caprice angles into a driveway right behind me, and two men get out of the car. I hear them talking, I keep walking. “Hey, we want to talk with you”. I shake my head nervously. “We’re police. Come here.” I now notice these two are in matching Yankees jerseys. They have badges. I stop. “What are you doing here?” one asks me. “Oh, I’m hanging up flyers for my free show this weekend.” “How many have you put up tonight?” “I’m not sure, maybe 20...” I still had a lot of flyers to hand people. There were maybe a hundred left in the bag. “You know it’s illegal to do that. This is public property.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was a law. I was only posting where people had already. I’ll go take them all down.” “Well it’s a little late for that. You have any ID on you?” “Actually, I do.” I hadn’t brought my wallet but had taken my license on intuition. Cop looks at my license. “Any prior arrests?”

“No Sir.” “What you did is a crime. It’s a misdemeanor called Criminal Mischief Vandalism. We have to take you in. If you have no record, it should only be a couple hours ‘til you’re out. You have to come with us.” The look of helpless shock washes over my face. One cop takes a polaroid of one light pole. “Can’t you just give me a ticket?” “This isn’t an offense we can write up. We’ve gotta put you in the back of the car, cuff ya. You have to be booked. We’ll get you in and out as soon as possible. Anything in your pockets?” I take out my house keys, my lighter (I’d only brought one cigarette for the short walk) and hand them my bag of flyers and the roll of tape. They cuff me and put me in the car. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I yell out the open door, loud enough for the cop taking the Polaroids to hear me.The two cops look at eachother, but no words are exchanged. The officer who is by the car slams the door.The sense of helplessness a person can experience in the presence of law enforcement is excruciating. The arrest is already absurd because it’s clear I’ll be released soon. What’s all the fuss about flyers? What’s the reason these guys have to bring a nobody like me into the station? I’ve lived in Williamsburg for about a year. In that time, I have seen people arrested for breaking windows, for stealing from liquor stores, for starting a shouting match in a supermarket. I have never in my life seen a person arrested for hanging a flyer on a light pole. The taller cop comes back from taking pictures.He crouches next to the back driver’s door, where I’m sitting in

the Caprice, cuffed and fuming. “Here’s the deal. All these brick buildings down here, they’re all owned by the mayor’s friends. Now, a lot of international communities are moving into this neighborhood, and there’s a lot of international gangs. They are marking their territory by spray-painting graffiti on these buildings. Then the mayor’s office gets a nasty phone call - it costs money to remove the paint and so he’s decided that any destruction of property is a misdemeanor. They’ve got us out here looking for kids with spray cans. But what you did qualifies as the same offense. So we can’t just turn a blind eye.” I am shocked by his candor. “So if you don’t find real graffiti artists, you find anything you can…is that it? You can’t arrest the guy selling grams of coke outside that bar, you have to arrest me for flyering?” “We’re on the Vandalism Task Force. That’s what we are looking for.” The clock in the car says 12:35 and I just want to go home. I have nothing to say to these cops. I am resigned to my fate that this petty crime is a political focus in the neighborhood. Let’s make this as painless as possible. We head off for the Precinct. One cop’s on his radio. One cop looks at my flyer. “Free food eh?” “Yeah, you should stop by, there will be plenty of leftovers.” “I might just do that. Hey, just so ya know, we’re gonna give you the flyers back. We’ll just keep the tape and a couple of the flyers.” I just smile and look out the window. This whole thing’s ridiculous. An awkward silence after one gets off his radio. “What are your names, officers?” “This is Officer Miller, and I am Officer Hassler.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Officer Hassler.” “Has anyone else ever asked you if that’s your real name?” “Sure.” “Pretty ironic, eh?” No reponse from Hassler. Hassler parks outside Precinct 94 on Meserole St. The local cops are standing around. Hassler and Miller’s demeanors change. Now in front of the local cops, I realize this isn’t their home precinct. When they open the door for me, I hop out and begin walking. Miller rushes up and grabs my shoulder. “Only walk when we tell you to.” To everyone on the street, and the cops on the stoop, I’m just another criminal. Precinct 94 is in a small neighborhood. According to the nyc.gov website, murder is down 100% for 2005 (from 3 in 2004 to none this year). Serious crimes are down in general. The cell at Precinct 94 is about 8 feet deep and 12 feet across. There’s a wooden bench. There’s no one in the cell. Miller tells me to remove my shoelaces. “What?” “It’s policy. We don’t want anybody doing anything stupid in the cell.” “You think I’m going to hurt myself with my shoelaces?” “It’s policy. No one in the cell with shoelaces.”

“I can’t give em to you.” Miller gets a little exasperated. “Listen, kid, I’m doin my job here.” “No, I can’t. I’m cuffed behind my back.” The cops can’t figure out which to do first - should they put me in the cell so they can take the cuffs off? Or should they take the cuffs off so I can take my shoelaces out so they can put me in the cell? Eventually I’m sitting cuff free in the cushioned desk chair while I remove my shoelaces, then I am put into the cell. SLAM. HOUR ONE – QUESTIONS. I embellish the truth. Why not? I have six brothers, twelve cats. I tell them this isn’t the first cell I’ve been offered - I was asked to be in a terrorist cell in Detroit by a 400 pound woman named Olestra, who works at the shoe store in my neighborhood. She offered me socks in exchange for my soul. I declined due to my intense national pride. I am offered a phone call. It’s past 1AM. I decline. Just as I am asked about the phone call, I realize I was never read my Miranda Rights. Miller is filling out paperwork, like a third grader who was told “No dessert til you finish your math.” I really pity these cops. HOUR TWO – TAKE IT LYING DOWN. A wooden bench has zen-like properties when it’s the only furniture available. I can stretch all the way out…this is better for my back than my lumpy twin mattress! I start thinking about what a great song this experience will inspire. As I begin working the verses out, the cell opens, and I am removed to have my pictures taken. I have a quick inner battle of “Do I go for the toothy Broadway shot or the Dead Zombie look?” Dead Zombie wins out. It takes Hassler and Miller over 30 minutes to take my fingerprints on the fancy new-fangled inkless machine that keeps giving error messages on the screen. My hand kept cramping up – and my pleas that they be gentle (“I’m a musician!!!”) were largely ignored. They send my info to be processed. They are not sure the computer transmission went through. Back in the cell, feeling bad for all those three year olds who want to be cops. These are their role models. HOUR THREE – THE PHONE CALL. Not mine, I declined that one. Hassler gets a call, I assume from a buddy cop. He is sitting at a desk less than ten feet from the cell. “Yeah, we couldn’t find any spray cans so we had to grab ourselves a poster collar.” THERE. He said it. Hassler admits that he needed an arrest that night. I lose my cool. I had been a good sport til this point, I love life experiences, but I’m behind bars and he’s gloating about what a waste of his time this is. I lose it. “SO THAT’S IT?” I scream at the top of my lungs, “I’M YOUR POSTER COLLAR? I’M YOUR QUOTA? GOOD JOB, BOYS, WAY TO GO! GLAD YOU MADE YOUR QUOTA FOR THE EVENING. NO SENSE LOOKIN FOR REAL CRIMINALS!!!” My level of fury surprises the cops – for about a second. Hassler jumps out of his seat and leaves the room. I can’t see anyone. I start pacing, working up a sweat, ready for a verbal joust. The

only power I have is language, my only freedom left is speech.

HOUR SIX. The ultimate finish. When the cops do a background check, they send the mugshot, prints and arrest number to a NY State- central computer system in HOUR FOUR - SILENCE. It’s been thirty minutes since Albany, NY. The system runs through outstanding warrants I lashed out at Hassler. I’m alone. Right around 4:20AM, and unsolved cases to make sure the prisoner isn’t wanted Miller comes in “How’s it goin in there?” I stoneface him. elsewhere. Apparently since mine is a pretty common last “Well, I’m trying to get out to go to work in the morning, name, this takes several hours. As a kid in Albany NY I used maybe get some sleep before. How’s your night going?” to roller-blade past the NYS Police Department forensics Miller sits in the padded desk chair. labs. I am amused that the computer system where my “Listen, Dan, this is the job. If we don’t make arrests we fate is being decided is less than a mile from my childhood hear about it from the captain. We’re doing our jobs so we home. At 5:45AM I’m clear to be released, with a DAT can keep them.” – a desk appointed ticket. “Are you proud of what I have to appear in court you are asked to do?” He at a later date. I lace my can’t look me in the eye. shoes up, collect my keys “When you have mouths and lighter, my remaining to feed, you do what you flyers, and walk up to the gotta do.”I lay into the guy. front counter with Hassler. “Officer, no disrespect Seated behind the counter intended, but I’m not a is the Commanding criminal. You know it, I Officer, who has to sign know it. You’re doing the city for my release. He’s a of New York a disservice. tall, lanky guy and he’s You’re only reinforcing my smoking a cigarette. He belief that NYC cops have leans back in his swivel misguided policies . I’m chair and slurs, here because you know I’m “Ya know you’re getting off easy, you get mine til I say you can go, to sit back, and you look right?” I nod. He signs good tomorrow for arresting my paper (which I was someone. You’ve kept me unable to decipher and up all night so your morning therefore I cannot identify meeting with your Captain him.), and I ask him for a goes a little smoother.” He cigarette. NOTE – DO stands up straighter, his chest NOT ASK COPS FOR A poked out a little puffier than CIGARETTE. before. “What’s that son?” “We didn’t send you “I’ve been in here through Central Booking. almost six hours on a crap We could have, and you charge, sir. I could use a could be in a cell with other Marlboro if you have perps. Rapists. Burglars. But one to spare.” I’ve got no we didn’t do that. Is that money and a long walk what you want? Now we’re home. getting you through as “I got a whole pack the incriminating flyer soon as possible.” Feeling of cigarettes, son,” as he emasculated and furious, waves them in front of me. I sit and think of ways to “And you can’t have one.” escape. Hassler shouts to Miller “Grab those Newports off the table. Miller hands me a busted box of Newports with three HOUR FIVE – NOTHING HAPPENS except Miller remaining. The C.O. scowls at them in disgust. Hassler offers me a bottle of water. An olive branch? Miller walks me to the door. “See, some people aren’t so nice. You makes me hand him the plastic cap back through the bars. know where you’re going?” I begin pacing the cell. I have a case of boredom-induced “I have no idea. Thanks.” I navigate my way home, claustrophobia. I pass the time by remembering the details smoking the three cigarettes right away. I’m home in an of the night, and by humming Johnny Cash tunes. hour to my roommate asleep on the couch. It’s almost 7AM. “Hey, remember that short walk to Bedford?”

“Grumble, Lipsmack, Yawn?” “Well, I got arrested for flyering. I just got out.” “Yawn…” Yeah, I’d better go to bed too. I have to leave for work in an hour. SLAM. CURTAIN CALL - A MONTH LATER I appear at the Criminal Court House on Schermerhorn St. in Downtown Brooklyn. Here it’s decided if my case is thrown out, if I receive a fine, or if I am issued an ACD - an adjournment in contemplation of dismissal. This is the same charge most NYC protesters were issued after being jailed during the Republican National Convention. Six months good behavior, and it’s as if the arrest never existed. My public defender is a woman who tells me she’s never seen a case like this go to court, and that she’s shocked mine did. I mention I am a musician, and reiterate what the officers told me about the Mayor and his policies. She tells me they were very honest, and she’s surprised by that. Then she asks me if I know any good harmonica players. She’s a legal counsel, but she’s really a fledgling Indie Filmmaker looking for a good harp player to record the background music for her movie. I think, ‘What is it about Brooklyn?’ I forget to tell her I was never Mirandized. I give her my email address. The entire hearing took less than sixty seconds. They call my name, I step up. The judge looks at the prosecuting attorney, says “ACD?”. He says back, “ACD”, and the judge says “You’re free to go.” My time under arrest was more than 360 times longer than my day in court. POSTLUDIO – There are four months left until my record is as clear as the day I was born. I see police authority in a new light. Some cops are just assholes. Some are not. Some are conflicted themselves about the laws they enforce. This suggests many things to me, the least is not to worry too much about this arrest. The UK send-off show was great, though no cops showed up for the burgers - would we have served them? The trip to the UK was a slam-dunk. Folks over there put flyers wherever the hell they want. Musicians are also allowed to drink a beer while playing guitar on the street corner. The USA should take a hint - Maybe we could have a new Arts Awareness Task Force - patrols that blast indie-rock from their loudspeakers while serving PBR to street musicians. SO BE AWARE - There are police in NYC who want YOU –to help them keep their cushy Task Force jobs! The administration wrongly believes that punishing flyer hangers will reduce spray-can graffiti. Criminal records are being started on non-threatening musicians. Take your license with you everywhere. “If all advertising is banned, there’ll be a lotta bands in Lorimer Jail.” Listen to the song “The Saga Of Lorimer Jail” at myspace.com/dancostello more at dancostellomusic.com

Erin Regan: Live - in Prison! Jonathan Berger asks the hard questions. Erin Regan, recent Urban Folk cover girl, also spent several days in custody in April. They discuss. JB: So, you spent some time in prison. ER: Jail, actually. They never sent me on to the big house. JB: What was that like? ER It was only a few days; stale baloney sandwiches three times a day. JB: How many escape attempts did you make? ER: Excuse me? JB: How often did you try to get out? Did anyone mail you a nail file in a cake or anything? ER (laughs): Nothing like that. It was only for a couple days. JB: A few or a couple? ER: What? JB: Was it a few days, or a couple? ER: I guess it was three. JB: Hm. What liberties were you defending? ER: I don’t think I – JB: Sorry .What First Amendment issue were you defending? Was it freedom of religion? Are you agnostic? Or… buddhist? ER: I wasn’t arrested for anything like that. JB: Did they send you to the Big House to silence you? Who did you refuse to sell out? Tell me… ER: I was taken in for driving with a suspended license. JB: Yes, but WHY was your license suspended? Was there sex? ER: What? JB: In prison. How many prisoners did you love while on the inside? Ten? Twelve? Who was the bitch? Were you the bitch? Were there bitches? ER: It was only three days… JB: Did you get married? Were there conjugal visits? Shower room pillow fights? ER: This interview is over. JB: Any prison tatts? Did you kill anyone? Was Tim Robbins there? Wait… erinregan.com

Subway Stories

taking a vacation

by Dave Cuomo

I took most of the last few months off of playing in the subways for a number of reasons. To make up for my lack of new subway material to write about, here’s the story of my first public performance in New York. Enjoy... XVI. The Folksinger folksinger. “Hi, I don’t My third day in the city Jennie and I were walking through have my guitar with Washington Square Park where I stumbled on my first New me, but I have a song York street performance. A man with camouflaged pants and I’d really like to play if desert army boots was standing in front of a crowd of about I could borrow one,” I 30 or 40 people all sitting around him in rapt attention while said with a bit of nervous he sang Woody Guthrie style folk songs. He looked like any elation. He seemed a little traveling bum musician I had ever known. This excited me. taken aback, and looked I knew it was a political time, but the fact that a political at me kind of funny for a folk singer could draw such a large crowd of passersby in moment before catching the park gave me a lot of hope for my own street performing himself and smiling. “Sure man, sure,” he said and handed me his guitar. career. Around him several other people were playing along on their guitars. They looked shy and nervous. Seeing an “Go for it.” He sat down with the crowd. I wasn’t really impromptu jam session like this reminded me of home, expecting him to give me his own guitar, but I was excited and I regretted having left my guitar back at my uncle’s to play. I showed the others the chords quickly and then apartment. launched into the song. At first the crowd seemed a little I was shy and nervous too, not having played publicly confused when I started playing, which I didn’t understand. in New York yet. I was inspired though. The day before we Back home, everyone always took turns trading off songs at had been welcomed to the city by half a million people in an impromptu session in the park like this. It’s egalitarian the streets protesting the Republican National Convention. that way. Pretty quickly I felt I had won them over. The Later we had gone to see a radical documentary at a small folksinger was smiling, and the crowd was enthusiastic and art house theatre, and now this. I knew I had come to the excited by the song. When I finished people whooped and clapped loudly. My first New York performance had gone right town. I wanted to take part. I saw them playing there and thought well. “I know how to do that!” I had the perfect song too, a fast “Do another,” the folksinger called from the crowd. I aggressive cover of “When The Ship Comes In.” Perfect for hadn’t really planned on doing a second one, and didn’t the election and I figured the perfect song to rouse the crowd know what to follow up with. Not knowing what to play, I in the park. Also, I couldn’t help but feel it was a little more politely declined, but he urged me on. appropriate than the slightly cliché union and war songs that “Um ok, thanks,” I said and racked my brain for something were being sung. up beat and inspiring. I wanted to continue the energy of Jennie and I hung back from the crowd while I complained the last song, but didn’t have any really good straight up that I was too scared to ask to play a song. Only the man politically inspiring songs ready to go. I choked. I started with the desert boots had sung anything, appearing to be into the closest thing I had, a song I have since retired called the default leader of the circle. The others strummed along “Bring Us the Rock, Bring Us the Hammer.” I had written contentedly if a little awkwardly. it as an attempt at a socialist folk punk anthem, but really it An older black man walked by, and the folksinger called was just me yelling for three minutes while pounding at my out to him. “Come on over, we need some more diversity in strings. It was pretty atonal and obnoxious. I could tell the the crowd,” he said. The man seemed a little embarrassed crowd was not into it at all. They looked disinterested and or annoyed, but complied good naturedly enough, while the annoyed or just looked away entirely. What was I supposed folksinger positioned him up front. “Here, I’ve got a song to do though, stop and apologize? I knew it was the worst you’ll like,” he said, then began playing Otis Redding’s thing I could’ve played, but I was stuck with it. Jennie put “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.” After the song the man her face in her hands, as if to say “oh god, anything but nodded uncomfortably and quickly made his escape. this song.” I sped up the tempo a bit trying to make it end We took a seat with the crowd while I grew more and quicker. The three minute song became 2 ½ excruciating more antsy watching them play from the sidelines. Jennie minutes of wishing I didn’t exist. I finished and received kept egging me on, saying it was a perfect song and that tepid applause. The folksinger stood up and took back his the crowd was sure to love it. Finally I couldn’t take it any guitar. more and in between songs I got up and walked down to the “You sound good man, thanks,” he said. I was embarrassed

and a little pissed at myself for ruining what had started as a really good performance. I took a seat by Jennie, and he started into another song about unionizing farm workers. No one in the crowd looked at me again. I was sitting next to the man the folksinger had sat next to while I was playing. He nudged me. “Do you know who that is?” he asked me. I of course, had no idea. “That’s Dan Bern, he’s a famous folksinger from LA. I’m his manager. He’s playing some park shows as part of the RNC protests. He emailed his fans to come down here and see him.” “Oh.” I paused for a minute to let the further embarrassment sink in. “ I wasn’t trying to horn in or anything. I thought it was just an impromptu kind of thing.” “Yeah, we figured you didn’t know,” he said in a ‘we’ll let it go this time’ kind of way. We sat politely through a couple more songs than slunk quickly away. I was embarrassed and discouraged by the whole thing. Jennie reassured me. “Oh, fuck him,” she laughed, “it was probably good for him. He’s a folksinger not a rock star right? Besides, you played great.” “I kind of choked.” I’ve always figured there had to be something prophetic in the whole thing, being my first performance here. Some moral it symbolizes or allegory for how I’m going to do in New York. Seems like every time I think about it though the moral changes. Some days the moral is simply that I

suck and should probably quit music before I horn in on real musicians stages and make a fool of myself. Or I should at least watch out whose shoes I’m about to naively step on around here. Some days the moral is that things have a habit of mattering more to people in the city than they might elsewhere, for better and for worse, and maybe we all need to lighten up a little, myself and Dan Bern included. Today I think the moral should be that “Sitting on the Dock of The Bay” is a fantastic song that people of all races can enjoy. I can whistle that one all day. If the moral is that Otis Redding rocks, the tragedy is that Dan Bern’s and Dyaln’s song are still so relevant but feel so futile. Everyone was so energized and excited about making a difference then. People were so empowered before the election, but afterwards the whole thing just faded away with barely a second thought. I guess our work is cut out for us. It’s a good time to be a folksinger...

myspace.com/davecuomo

The Antifolk Fest debe dalton reporting

by Debe Dalton

Well they asked me to do this. Why did they ask me instead of you? They hoped I could string a few words together. I look literate. It’s the glasses. And they knew I would be there. I would attend all nine nights of the SUMMER ANTIFOLK FEST 2005. Forty-five acts. I missed one. Sorry, not on purpose. Faulty umbrella. But nine nights. 7:30 to midnight. Tip jar. 2 drink minimum (hah)! I was there. Listening. Viewing. Proving my stamina once again for sitting and listening. Yes I can sit and listen and view. Review and report. A whole different matter. I can’t seem to do that to well. I’ve missed deadline after deadline. Sorry Dave. Just write it Jon says. Do I have to explain Antifolk again? Please god no. Well I had a good time. Tiring time. My throat was hoarse for weeks from the who-hooing. But how do I review 45 totally different performances? Who do I love? Barry Bliss, Danny Kelly, Amy Hills, Randi Russo, Dan Fishback, Kirk Kelly. Of course they are the reason I started living at the Sidewalk Cafe. Beat the Devil, Preston Spurlock, Hearth, Rebecca Smith: the reasons why I can’t leave. Lach, a reason all by himself. My favorite moments: Jon Berger not breaking out in full sweat till his fourth poem; Danny Kelly covering Stanley Brothers’ “Sarah Jane” dedicating it to Karen; Thomas Truax howling at the moon; Steve Espinola bumbling along, yet heavy metal-ing on his tennis racket; wandering in to listen to Amy Hills’ thoughts; Creaky Boards exiting during their “Suburban Skies Goodbye” before the mando tip jar got passed around; the jetlagged Murphy kids; Matt Van Winkle’s she makes it fun, fun, fun to fight; Curtis Eller effortlessly showing all of us how it should be done. I could go on and on. But I can’t go on and on. See it for yourself. Hang out at the Sidewalk Cafe. Dark room in the back. Go to the Winter Antifolk Fest 2006. Damn. Review it for yourself. Done.

The Return of ALEC SAYS It has been said many times, “Alec Wonderful, you are so wise, so willful, so wonderful, could you give me advice on the important matters of the days?” Usually, I answer “No.” “Please Alec Wonderful,” the people wail and cry, a groundswell of aching need from a populace hungry for enlightenment, “Teach us, inform us, educate and elucidate.” I feel for these people; I really do. And for ten thousand bucks, I usually relent. Today, though, this one time only, I have decided, as a special service for those less fortunate than myself, I will answer certain questions and give the people the benefit of my experience. It’s a little bit like my old advice column in Wonderful News, lo, those many years ago. Today, I shall satisfy your curiosity. Today, I shall tell you all you need to know – or, at least, all that I wish to tell. How do I form a band? Usually, it’s a matter of calling your closest and most personal friends, telling them to uproot their lives to follow you around the globe for a couple of months, then, while on tour, flying back to their place to sleep with their wives. It’s not pretty, but it is a necessary aspect of life on the road. Here are some tips to make sure you make the most of your band: When the drummer starts asking for writing credit, fire him. The bass player, too. If they think they’re contributing something to your artistic process, they’re just getting too big for their britches. Seeing as how they probably know your operation pretty well, though, it’s a good idea to keep them on the payroll. Maybe as part of the road crew – or food taster. It’s important, when on the road, to create redundancy in your staff. Your second violin player should be able to fill in as acrobat. Your tour manager should also work security. On the one hand, it keeps expenses down, but just as important, making sure everybody fulfills multiple roles lets everyone know just just how expendable they are. Do not record with your bandmates. Use your home studio, recording all the parts yourself. If you can’t play sousaphone, and require that sound for your recording, kidnap someone. They don’t even need to know how to play the instrument. You wouldn’t believe how strong an educational tool terror can be (unless you went to public school in Oakland). When you’re done with the poor sucker, dump him on an interstate two time zones away. The mystique this will build around you and your recordings will do you nothing but good. The important thing is not to trust your bandmates. As the people who are on the road with you for months at a time, they are the ones who will know you best, understand you most fully and could be the friends you remember forever.

by Alec Wonderful

Exploit them quickly, before they can exploit you.

How do you gain a huge following? I’m told that if you stay true to your creative vision, people will flock to you. Then again, I am an international phenomenon. People love me in 117 languages. I’ve been a golden boy longer than some pop tarts have been alive – and might have fathered a few of them. Anyway, maybe my view’s a little skewed. In fact, now that I think about it, when I’m on the road, I hear lots of performers working hard to be honest and true without being any good. They spend all their effort on innovation and not enough on entertainment. For God’s sake, I may be the most important man since Caesar, but I’m an artist. My medium requires someone to understand and appreciate what I’m talking about. What I’m getting at is that you should be true to yourself, but you’d also better look for the lowest common denominator. Got that? A distinct vision that everybody can appreciate. Dumb it down, but be unique. Oh, hell. To get a huge following, rip off Alec Wonderful. It’s been working for lots of superstars for years. Give it a shot; I can lend you some of my crowds. Have you even been in a hurricane? Well, I have been in the eye of a media storm that few others have had to weather, but maybe that’s not what you’re asking. I don’t recall ever being in a hurricane, but there was this time I inadvertently caused a cave-in in Kentucky. I was playing a benefit show in a mining town, for the workers or the uninsured or the orphans or the ore, and, well, too many people showed up. Normally, there are tight controls as to the size of my audience, for fear of this very kind of thing, but the poor orphans or the elderly or whatever they were so desperately wanted to see me, I just couldn’t turn them away. If only I had… The sheer mass of my fanbase collapsed the mountain. I wasn’t hurt, of course. Few of us were that were on the mountain-top. But the avalanche that the roaring appreciation caused, well, the fauna and flora of the entire environment will never be the same. But of course, isn’t that just like most of my shows? I had to sing to the poor captured miners or homeless or abused nuns until they all were freed from the rockslide. My throat was pretty sore at the end and 13 people died, so it was not a good day for Alec Wonderful. I will tell you this, though: Kentucky knows a lot about the rock.

Get in the Minivan

by Brook Pridemore

Over Six Weeks in the Summer of 2005, I partook in a perimeter tour of the US, going South, then West, then North, then East. David LK Murphy traveled with me through Los Angeles, and was then replaced by Ivan Sandomire. So Phoenix, AZ is grossly hot in the summer time. Don’t let anybody fool you, that dry heat is easier to deal with than wet heat: dry heat just means that you can’t breathe, and it’s still hot as hell. Strangely though, as we drove in from Albuquerque on a Saturday afternoon this past July it poured rain on us. It rained all the way from Flagstaff to Phoenix, through some of the windiest mountain curves I’d ever seen. Although we’d heard horror stories, both on the news and from our friends, we reached downtown Phoenix and it was sixty degrees, pitch-black, with clouds and drizzle. The kid at the venue told us that it never rains in Phoenix, but he seemed even more creeped out by the fact it was only six pm and the sky had darkened to full nightfall. Streetlamps, set on a timer, had not recalibrated for this unexpected dusk and hadn’t started working yet, leaving everything dark and sinister. The clouds made the sky look like a giant brain, pulsing with electrical synapses and rolling thunder morse code. The venue was a seemingly left-leaning place called the Counter Culture Cafe, but it could also have easily passed as a Christian coffeehouse. I’ve played both, and believe me, no gig is full of less appreciative people, and worse for tips, than a Christian coffeehouse. I spent the whole evening trading sets with Murph, getting proper stoned by the cafe staff in their “get-high shack,” and not worrying about finding a place to stay, because we were hooked up with my friend from college, Nicole. Whatever had consisted of a crowd slowly trickled out into the now-hotter late night. I talked to a guy who said he was in a band called Where Eagles Dare. I said, “Cool. The Misfits, right?” He got all mad: “It’s got nothing to do with the Misfits! That’s just the name of the band!” My friend Nicole called me at about 2AM and told me not to bother coming over, she was just going to bed. I tried to make her understand that we had no place to stay, and no hope of finding shelter at this late hour. She still said no. We ended up sleeping, or attempting to sleep, in the get-high shack behind the club. Dan, {my manager,} got really mad at me the next day, for taking the couch in the get-high shack, when it was my flaky friend that had fallen through. I spent much of the afternoon thinking of the best way to tell him to go fuck himself, then gave up. Murph spent a good portion of the afternoon in the Hard Rock Cafe, enjoying the air conditioner and watching baseball. This was one of those despondent days, where the gig the night before didn’t go so well, and you didn’t make any friends in a town of strangers, and you have a whole day

to kill before you get to make another stab at making money and meeting friends. Dan and I were sitting in this big downtown common area in Phoenix, waiting for Food Not Bombs to show up. Lots of homeless people were sleeping/ lounging in the park, but nobody paid us any mind. This one guy came up and

said, “Hey, guys, what’s up?” Dan said, “Sorry dude, we’re traveling.” The guy freaks out, makes up some shit about selling sunglasses, and threatens to kick our asses. Dan tells him to have a nice day. He comes back and starts screaming again, so we just walk away, and go find Murph. After a truck pulled up to the park, loaded up some people, drove off and didn’t return, we figured Food Not Bombs wasn’t gonna show up. We saw the same guy walking around, yelling about stuff, but this time, he had a couple of friends with him. We went off in search of swimming. We found swimming in a public pool. The water was easily ninety-five degrees, but was still a welcome change from the dry air. Murph borrowed one of my bathing suits, then used the pocket to wash out a pair of his boxer shorts. suit.

Note to self: Don’t let anybody borrow your bathing

Later that night, we met a bunch of really cool bands. This girl Allison, who plays bass in a group called The Orphan Line, took us to her house, where we did some late night drinking, and sleeping in an air-conditioned environment. Next morning, her guitar player invited us over for a home cooked lunch. After all that despondence, insecurity, and uncertainty, we were proven wrong about Phoenix, which leads me to my point: No town is completely full of assholes. Sometimes you just have to look hard or luck out. brookpridemore.com

Poetry Page and a Book Review

send your book to 640 W 139th St. #24 New York, NY 10031 Blood I. I spit blood into the sink this morning; before brushing, my mouth untouched by floss - no apparent provocation - but enough blood to cause alarm. My tongue and teeth were a dark red and after rinsing my mouth with a glass of tap water (sickly sweet with bloody glucose), I stared into the bathroom mirror, examining the edges of my gums for an abrasion, some source, but found nothing. II. At age thirteen, I watched a white pickup truck drive through a flock of ducks on a back road in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. I sat in the backseat of our family car - my mother and father up front - and stared through the windshield as the mess of white feathers and blood and decapitated bird bodies flapped and spun and fell along the asphalt. The driver showed no mercy, no attempt to avoid the birds. III. On the eve of the invasion, Barbara and Jenna danced drunk in a seedy Austin, Texas piano bar, as I sat drinking with friends - at the opposite end of the club - on my last night in town. As the sisters exulted, their father was preparing to bomb Iraq; I was halfway through my fifth beer, trying hard not to entertain the thought of that fourth Pennsylvania plane reaching its target. -Chris Maher

what was magnetic chris maher RiYL Books Our first book to review! Awesome, keep them coming. This is a short smart looking chap book from songwriter and RiYL records founder Chris Maher. Most of the poetry is personal, a lot of it being about girls and heartache with light abstract imagery, and a loose easy rhythm. Beyond his well adjusted yearning is a dark streak too of which “Blood” is the most blatant example. The innocent ones about missing girls are always balanced out with the ones pointing to something more sinister, allowing itself to become darker as the book moves along until the ending “Blood”. It opens with a sweet breakup poem followed by one of quick couplets describing a nervous uneasy city. It feels like Chris allows himself to say more with each passing poem, weather being a common device to describe personal storms coming, which allows him to if not step out of his own head, at least draw the common experience into it. Interspersed are short almost parable like poems which paint a quick picture, but often end up saying more than the longer ones, such as “Lucky,” seven lines in which a man is introduced who is selling socks from a bag followed up with the lines “Do not allow the loss/of the privilege of love/let you feel tragic.” That’s a lot of implication for a seven line break up poem. Usually the dark streak is under the surface, catching the reader by surprise in an almost over looked line, such as the end to “A Device Comprised of Pipe Valves,” a nostalgic piece with mixed childhood stories involving a B.B. gun and a generous uncle, ending with the creepy line “I considered shooting my uncle/ but that pillow was just too damn expensive.” It’s innocent enough in the context, but feels murderous. Chris’s language style is fairly plain and straightforward, using simple imagery and wordplay with an indirect and fluid rhythm. The simple line drawings interspersed throughout make sense with the language style, but there is a nervous and sometimes frantic energy to some of them which adds to the tension in the poetry chrismaher.com riylbooks.com

The Evening Nothing Happened Sad, sexy bartenders lean far over counters, pout and act coarse for contrast. Ex-lovers pretend and kids toast with fancy glasses and eat Polish cheese and English muffins. I had an encounter on 2nd and the Bowery that didn’t matter (and didn’t happen). Seduction wars with the braid man on the downtown 4 home. Glance, look back, leg bend, head arch, I’m not looking, why are you looking? Camaraderie with the Roxy Diner man who can’t speak English. Rebecca to attractive, melancholy soul on the elevator up: “Hey, want a wafer?” “Yeah.” “Oh, I didn’t bite it off- I just tore it.” “Cool.” -Rebecca Hirsch

The Grateful Dead... fiction

When I first did it I could not explain me to myself. It felt good and that is all I cared about. The ‘G’ string was the best one to use as I had tried the others but they were either too thick or too thin. The fear explored up my back in a coffee spill kind of way each time - but it felt good. A little kitten was the first. I laugh now as I think of how frightened I was at the volume of sound it made dangling at the end of my guitar ’G’ string garrote. So, yes I did several other small animals and a couple of big dogs because I knew for what I was rehearsing. I loved the music the guitar-basically wood and wire,- could make. I sing all the songs of the 60’s and 70’s and have a small following in Manhattan at some of the clubs. I seem to play with more gusto after killing someone. It must be the remnant rush from the act. My first human was a kid from the Bronx and I was 15 at the time. I just didn’t like him, the way he walked, some kind of handicap. . I came up behind him on one fall day. It may have been late September. I wish I could remember. Anyway I snapped the wire around his neck with speed, clarity, and strength. It was a used ‘G’ string so I did not mind the blood and the ‘inside of the neck’ stuff on it. I suppose his flailing arms made it a bit, more difficult than I expected but I learned a lot from him, being my first human. I could get a sense although general of how most may react. I’ve done it so many times in various parts of the City and I sing and write songs about them too. I watch the stupid motherfuckers listening to me singing with fucked up grins and smiles. They don’t know that I am actually telling my truth. Here is a song: I walked through the City one morning Down a dusty side street of pain There I met young man Who was under some strain I killed him on the spot And that was the gain

by Ed Lynch

One funny thing happened where I almost got caught. I had not killed anyone in a while and it was a boring winter day. Everyone had on coats, which interfered with my fun. I had to restrict myself to drunks in the Bowery and bums I’d meet. They were asleep or too drunk to struggle and I was releasing them anyway. So, one late evening I saw a man standing by a streetlight and I decided to go for him The damndest thing!! He had on one of those neck braces you wear after a fender bender. Now let me tell you I am tremendously strong in my arms and hands but this surprised the hell out of me The guy turned around with a frightened look as I drove my fist into his nose. I am sure I broke it. He fell backwards into the street. I skedaddled right out of there as I was sure he really did not see me and I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I had already. Let’s see if I can figure it out. I have been doing this for about 20 years and I must have killed 55 to 60 people. I am sure you don’t believe me but that is your issue. When I am singing to the foolish crowds, it is like my confessional there. I also know that the dead are grateful for the release. I have written many songs with death being the main issue. I realized how ironic it was when I killed one of my own audience persons. I just got a glimpse of the side of his face but my wire was already doing its job. I have to be careful. I have to have control. I have to choose more carefully, more wisely. I don’t want to kill my own business!

Chorus: Oh how grateful are the dead Upon lovingly losing their head What a soft space I have in my heart I only kill people I don’t know a lot Continuing along the alleys of town I met a young girl who was selling herself As I asked to see her back and her ass I snapped off her head with style, grace and class There she shrieked and I ran as I heard a voice I got a bit winded but I hadn’t a choice

illustration by Elise Cuomo DeFrank

Paul’s Perspective

waxing and waiting

Waiting for a song isn’t like waiting for a train— sometimes it’s not just a matter of time, but more a matter of motivated inspiration; and sometimes a songwriter can wait for what feels like forever and never know when to expect their ship to come in. That said, I think all songwriters, writers, artists, or “creators” of any type experience periods of drought, however, occasionally it becomes difficult to deal with these dry spells when they last for too long. Perhaps I am wrong in thinking that all songwriters hit a wall from time to time, especially considering the fact that friends of mine, such as Drew Torres, seem to dream up songs faster than they can write them down, while I, despite my occasional serendipitous brush with divine inspiration, have somehow lost the prolific productivity of my past, and have recently begun treating the “art” of songwriting more like a discipline—working daily at advancing my craft to what seemed like no avail. Nevertheless, I never let up, and I have been writing everyday—even when uninspired. I have turned to lauded songwriter self-help such as The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity by Julia Cameron, and as always, I have been immersing myself in the energy of our fair city. Yet all efforts aside, the songs I harbor within remain ever elusive, continually taunting me like I were Tantalus, as 2nd verses, missing choruses, and more insightful themes dance somewhere in my consciousness, but just beyond my reach. Ordinarily annoying, writer’s block becomes much more mortifying when working under a deadline, as the old adage “you can’t rush genius” becomes all too prophetic. I discovered this recently, as I’ve passed the time since the publication of the last Urban Folk bleeding many a pen and losing many a nights sleep in search of the final songs for an album, at times, I fear may never see the light of day, not due to the conflicts with my producer I’ve spent other issues chronicling, but due instead to what I am starting to think may be my inept abilities as a songsmith. And perhaps it is good to put pressure on creating perfection in each piece a person creates, but maybe such standards also prevent pure passion from peeking through. Still, the semantics of songwriting aside, as I have poured over chord progressions and journals written over the past year, every time I seem to be close to finishing a song, something always keeps my work from feeling final, and something about it always seemed forced. Anyone who knows me, or even reads this magazine regularly, is aware that I am rarely at a loss for words, nonetheless, during my recent songwriting drought it was lyrics which failed to flow, as at every sitting I continued to stockpile songs without words. Even still,

by Paul Alexander

no thirst can go forever unquenched, and so as is often the case, after weeks of fruitless toiling, it was only at the last possible minute that I achieved the Herculean feat of composing my first complete composition in what seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile, following my first success, others songs began to pour from my pen in rapid succession. It has been said that necessity is the mother of invention, and so it shouldn’t surprise me that after building a subconscious barricade to my creative juices for so long, it was only after my producer let me know that we had reached the eleventh hour that I was finally able to capitalize on my dormant ditties, churning out the final two songs I needed to round out my album in record time. Even so, despite the fact that I suppose all’s well that ends well, I would never wish to be in such a precarious position again, and I endeavor to make the most of my new found fertility by waxing, not waiting, and complete my next album’s worth of material—and then some—long before this first album is even complete. Post-Script: Irony of ironies—you can ask the editor—this article took me the longest time of any article to write, thanks to yet another bout with the metaphoric monkey on my back— writer’s block. palexandermusic.com

Crossword Puzzle

-that’s somewhat relevant

�

�

�

�

�

��

�

�

�

��

�� �� ��

��

��

��

��

��

��

�� ��

��

��

��

��

��

��

�

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

Across 41. 1. symbol indicating pitch 45. 5. more than none 8. remedy 46. 12. fraud 13. already gone OR antihoot trivia 48. category (abbr.) 49. 14. similar 15. east village music scene 50. 16. mongrel 17. environment 51. that fosters rapid 52. growth 53. 18. characters 19. recipient of an exaggerated Down display of feeling 1. 23. good ‘hood for 2. music (abbr.) 3. 26. enthusiasms 4. 27. sass 30. confidante 5. 31. greasy spoons 6. 32. teensy bit 33. lukewarm 35. brassy music genre 7. 36. speaks publicly 8. 38. type of chord

the rules:

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

��

�

la ___ bonita, Madonna hit in ’86 one opposition to a yea aggressive question OR antihoot trivia category * blister site campus concern OR antihoot trivia category (abbr.) i don’t give one ___...! disapproving sounds foolish one not at a great distance kin verse component grub Belgian “french” fry ruckus trendy quarter just above a good ‘hood for gelato chatter army store standard (abbr.)

by Deborah T.

be the first person to email or snail mail (submissions handed to us in person will not be accepted) the completed crossword or the correct answers to [email protected], or 640 W 139th St #24 New York, NY 10031 the prize:

be featured here! You will be interviewed by Deborah T. and win a short feature in the next issue of Urban Folk 9. 10. 11. 18. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 28. 29.

small, fretted instruments traditional deed vocal ailment specialists dwell adviser not as young bring something to a close (2 wds.) wst. side of the map the end of an ___ loitering location OR certain music venue annoy indy radio station break

34. argument based on an emotional plea 37. type of protest 38. over and done 39. yoko, et alia 40. windows to the soul 42. holey place 43. never ___ fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you (2 wds.) 44. at a great distance 46. boo hoo 47. marketing bits * this answer has been censored for your solving convenience.

CD reviews

send your cd to 306 Jefferson St. 1R, Brooklyn, NY 11237 by the editorial collective

listen to the samples from the artists reviewed in this issue at alloyradio.com/urbanfolk

A Brief View of the Hudson Go North To Find Me North South records I hate it when this happens. The first track opens so promising, an upbeat folk rock song chock full of energy that makes you want to get out of your seat. It has a real sixties feel but with modern energy and creativity, fun melodies with acoustic guitars, a quick beat, good harmonies, and catchy riffs in the breaks. I’m enjoying it, I’m ready for more, but then the next two songs sink down into drawn out meandering that completely kill the mood. The sixties feel carries through, but more in the stoned redundant jammy kind of way. The pace drops out entirely, and the hooks disappear. Luckily they get it back after the second two tracks. The fast energy never quite matches the beginning, although the hard beat on “Perfect Love” comes close to raising the blood. The acoustic and organ ballad “Down South” is a perfect sing along moment, catchy and emotional. The double tracked vocals with one singing high and pretty while the other speaks in low tones is a nice artistic touch too. The acoustic sixties rock feel mixed with some modern production and the twin male/female vocals all ad up to an attractive sound that makes me curious to hear more. abriefviewofthehudson.com Brook Pridemore First Name/Last Name Crafty Records Brook is a damn fine songwriter. This album shows him off well, with a good clean sound and plenty of memorable catchy songs. He’s got a hard edge on a folk rock sound, with punk roots always showing through around the edges. Some of the songs are obviously so, with a fast fun sound, but even his slower ones hint at it with his habit of switching from a nice croon to an unexpected yell at the turn of a chord. Thankfully he resisted the urge of a lot of artists who pull this sound off so well live on an acoustic, and then go into the studio and lay it all down electric, losing every ounce of character they had on stage.

The sound of an acoustic with good hard drums behind is always exciting. Character is one thing Brook is in no way lacking. Fun, melodic and quirky songs with eclectic and funny lyrics that are still emotional and honest at their core. I especially appreciate the inspirational chorus to “Keith Richards,” “Play guitar, stop singing along.” When he puts his lyric writing talent in with a fast tongue tripping singing style, it’s an adventure. A good portion of the album is a slower standard folk acoustic singer/songwriter style, and I have to admit I would prefer to see more of the fun upbeat sound that is characteristically his. He is a good enough songwriter though that there’s no danger of not enjoying the songs that are here. Keep an eye out for the new one coming early next year. craftyrecords.com brookpridemore.com Brownbird Rudy Relic Don’t Dress Rhythm You could call Brownbird retro, although I think in this circumstance the word “traditionalist” suits much better. This is old school blues. I really feel like I’m listening to an old 30’s blues album put out by Smithsonian Folkways. It’s in his wailing voice, his lyrics, and his simple yet emotive guitar playing. The recording is kind of muddy and far away, with a bit of hiss over the top adding to the effect. I have to say it’s kind of eerie what a good replica of the old sound this is. There is not a drop of irony to the imitation either (unless you count the kazoo), just old blues played well. He’s got an impressive voice which he loves to show off, holding the long notes a little too long frequently just to make sure we really feel it. It’s a proud rich voice, and live it carries across a room with show stopping power. He sits back from the mic in a cocky “I don’t need that crutch” kind of way, which could be obnoxious if he wasn’t a good enough singer to pull it off. He’s a good blues man, and a great musician and singer, but music like this always begs the question, why would I put this on over the original real thing? Not that this is worse, but I don’t necessarily think it’s better. I have to wonder what would happen if he got a little more creative with his talents and looked into finding a voice of his own, equally powerful. Given how good a musician he obviously is, I’d be willing to bet it’d be great things. [email protected] myspace.com/brownbirdrudyrelic

Casey Shea Take the Bite Picture an acoustic Coldplay, a sort of grandiose brit pop folk, and you’ve got Casey Shea. Lush songs with emotional melodies and a smooth voice with what sounds like a hint of a British accent singing songs about girls and apathy. The strongest part is definitely the melodies, which are rich, complex, and expansive. I like the acoustic fairly sparse recording on this kind of music. There’s a bit going on in the production to pad out the sound too, giving the impression that the stripped down sound was a conscious choice rather than a matter of financial necessity. Overall the album is somewhat lacking in energy, except for the distorted rocking sitar sounding track, which was overbearing and a little annoying in its own way. The album as a whole is pretty and lush, and the songs are of a high caliber. It is beautiful, but in the end it is still a slow album about apathy. caseysheamusic.com Cassandra Kubinski hiding underneath I find it really weird in this city how artists who might never associate end up thrown together in the same ring. Singer/Songwriters like Cassandra and many others around here come from an unadulterated pop school of music, that is easy for some of us east village indy folkies to pass off as shallow. We here at Urban Folk are just as guilty of this as anyone, but I think it’s important to step back and judge things on their own merits sometimes. This ep showcases a lot of things that Cassandra does well. Her compositions are strong and complex in their melodies, which come out both catchy and interesting. Her voice is engaging and impressive as well. She avoids the nasally showtune quality that so many trained singers end up with, and instead has a clear strong voice not lacking in character or sweetness. Live she uses her voice to add to her confident stage presence, which is stronger and less cutesy than other girls of this genre often go for. The lyrics can be pretty hit or miss, mostly personal/emotional themes that don’t look much beyond her own head and heart, ranging from the fairly poetic “Cradle the Moon,” to the slightly embarrassingly blunt title track about how she’s not as innocent as she seems. “Cradle the Moon” was by far my favorite track, showcasing her voice and good melodic sense in a simple piano and vocal arrangement that comes off very intimate. It has a sweet slow building verse with interesting bits of jazz composition, that breaks into a chorus that lilts and turns with a few undeniable hooks that come at you one after another. I get it stuck in my head quite a bit which I’ve been enjoying. She is at her best stripped down to the piano and vocals where she sounds most natural and

has a chance to show off what she does best, as evidenced by the awkwardness again apparent on the title track when she tries to kick in a heavy electric guitar and drums that sounds like it was played by a middle aged producer trying to rock out. For hard rock I’m going to have to look elsewhere, but she does write and carry a good piano pop tune. ckubinski.com Creaky Boards Where’s the Sunshine? This is a much more serious release then their last one. The Beach Boys feel is still there, only this time the songs are tighter, and the recording sounds crisp and clean. Catchy fun summer songs with good oohs and ahhs and multi layered textured harmonies throughout, Creaky Boards are always right there telling you to lighten up and dance. Also they put my two favorite songs on this one that get stuck in your head for days after seeing them live, “Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum,” and “Who’s Living in our Smile Tonight?” The album is worth it for these two songs alone. The secret to doing music like this well is really understanding what goes into crafting a good early sixties pop melody, beyond the simple blues progressions most bands would be content with. These songs are not so simple often with long building chord progressions and interesting key switching, combined with intricate song structures that have little surprises waiting around the corner, making you appreciate when they finally slip back into the catchy simple refrain. Maybe it’s just because I can hear it better on this recording, but it sounds like Creaky Boards have taken a real leap forward on this album, creating a perfect example of what they’ve always been capable of. Yes, it’s still retro, but it also sounds self aware, and doesn’t take itself too seriously while managing to sound honest and heartfelt, a nice trick to pull off. If this band keeps going down the road they’re on, I have no doubt they’ll be putting out a “Smile” of their own soon, and it will be nothing we were expecting. creakyboards.com Curtis Eller’s American Circus Taking Up Serpents Again Usually, I find myself disappointed with the recordings of artists whose live act I’m familiar with. I so enjoy what I’m used to hearing them do that any deviation is something of a disappointment, a betrayal. I’m a fan of Curtis Eller and his banjo antics, so it should be obvious what happened when I listened to “Taking Up Serpents Again.” I loved it. Eller is a dynamic and exciting live performer. His past as circus acrobat leaves his elastic on-stage, both physically and mentally – he can easily gauge the room and perform accordingly. None of these strengths help him on an album, though. On an album, it’s all about the songs and the arrangements. Luckily, Eller’s songs are superlative, and the arrangements are fleshed out variants of that old-time

sound that Eller’s perfected. The “Very powerful lead instrument is Eller’s banjo, ....and neither but also included in the carny Springsteen nor mix is accordion, upright bass, Mellencamp drums and tuba. On first listen it would be less than may sound throwback, but if you thrilled to have think that’s all there is to it, then written some of you owe it to yourself to listen to these tunes. Ditto it again. Curtis has as much Tom Luka Bloom or Waits and Greg Brown to his Billy Bragg. No music as he does anything from kidding....” the 30’ and 40’s. Plus, the lyrics Michael Fremer are smart too. They explain exactly what he’s up too if you listen. He’ll musicangle.com take something from history, like Amelia Earhart, Steven Foster, or Buster Keaton, and then use live! every their stories to sing about things thursday at the completely current and relevant. In Underground the same way he uses an old sound Lounge for the arrangement, but the songs songwriter themselves are completely modern songwriting in the lyrical form showcase (107th & Broadway) and the melodies. It’s the kind of congruity that every artist should be striving for. Running themes available online at: through the release are nostalgia & at NY CD and religion. “Hide that Scar,” with cdbaby.com, emusic.com, & the itunes music store (81st & Amsterdam) its otherworldly back-up vocals, is about an attempt to storm heaven’s ever seen David LK Murphy at a show or even for a few gates via angel’s wings. “Amelia Earhart” is about wanting songs at an open mic, you know his songs will stay with to die before getting old, while “Buster Keaton” is about an you even long after you’ve first heard them. Do yourself a old soul wishing others hadn’t died or dissipated. There’s favor and go get a copy of this well written and equally well lots of melancholy all through the album, “Two of Us” and executed album. “Sugar in my Coffin,” about major and minor apocalypses, dlkm.com seem more angry. But there are no bum tracks on the record. There are sweet nostalgic songs that get right to your heart, el alto mad songs with a dark energy, and one completely happy the center of accident one song that kind of made me wonder what he was up to. I’ve Yay electro folk! I don’t know why, but I really enjoy said enough, get this album and see him live. the idea of computers and programmed beats mixing with curtiseller.com acoustic guitars and folk melodies. This has all the quirkiness and eccentricity of IDM, combined with the cohesiveness and David LK Murphy listenability of a singer/songwriter. It starts fun and upbeat, Home to You if a little dark in the lyrics, such as on “Georgia Knockout” Stripped down, passionate, lush, and memorable. Despite with the “Stick your head in the oven” chorus. Most of the fact that David LK Murphy released Home to You over the lyrics are about as off beat as the music. Acoustic and a year ago, the eight song EP remains a poignant picture of electric guitars mix in with computerized blips and bleeps, a songwriter at the top of his game. There’s the beautifully electronic drums, and twin harmonizing vocals. There are passionate “Smitten,” gracefully embellished by the cello of even some grand melodies accentuated by the slow rising Martha Colby, to the haunting chords of the “Prowler Intro” of the arrangements and production. After about the third followed by the power of “Prowler,” featuring the talented or fourth song some of the upbeat energy dies down a bit Brian Wurschum on drums and bass. David’s album is an and doesn’t return until the last few songs. The production eclectic collection of well orchestrated lyrically savvy songs. is still intricate and interesting though, and the melodies are No one song stands out among this collection, though “Sixty catchy in a subtle way. These songs make really good use Cycle Melodies” seems to find him at his best. Despite being of the programmed beats, hitting just left of where you’d a great namesake for the album, the song “Home to You” is expect and keeping you on your toes. The slower ones are by no means the best song on the disc. For anyone who has a little less tight though, and a bit more morose. There is

martinbutlermusic.com

less harmony on them too, which I miss, replacing it with a low solo voice. I’d say I prefer the upbeat ones, but can enjoy these as part of the album and another dimension to their sound. It just seems kind of jerky to start and end the album one way and do something completely different in the middle, like they were trying to cover up something that really wasn’t that bad. winondiagonals.com Gretchen Witt demo ep This CD starts amazingly pretty. “So Called Bliss,” begins with a gorgeous acoustic riff before her voice comes in with a single beautiful note held just a little longer than expected. Simple yet effective. Gretchen has a lovely voice. The song builds from there into a bit of a good solid driving chorus, and still comes back in for more of the beautiful intro with added harmony. This had to be my favorite track. The demo overall showcases Gretchen as a versatile artist. The second track is an upbeat acoustic rocker, “Say So” is poppy enough to have been written by a professional Nashville songsmith, there’s a good ballad, and a bluesy track to cap it all off. All these are done well, and Gretchen’s voice carries them all with a touch of Southern bluegrass to it. I will say the two poppy tracks began to test my limits of how far I was willing to go with her. This demo shows her to be an excellent singer and a good songwriter of the post-Ani pop folk variety. gretchenwitt.com

Martin Butler Watching The Days Fall It’s those albums that stare death in the face that give us the rare opportunity to hear things that are difficult, inspiring, cliché, or hard to listen to for whatever reason, but are things that our jaded ears could really use being open to once in awhile. The liner notes explain this album as “a musical document by which those I love might some day remember me.” Martin created this album after a long battle with life threatening illness, and a sense of the temporary nature of life pervades these songs. Not by singing about himself, but by the using this album as an opportunity to inspire. The songs are about life, about how it’s fucked up and how it will fuck you up. But after acknowledging that, there is hope and encouragement in the choruses and in the compassion for the characters in the songs. Martin is a native New Yorker who played in the late seventies punk scene and maybe that’s why I’m biased to trust that the grit and jaded optimism he sings about is honest and worth hearing. This has the feeling of one of those albums that an artist is finally able to make only later in life when they find what is really important, and realize what it is they actually want to say. There aren’t a lot of punk roots left in the music. I would say sonically it’s like a folky Tom Petty with more of a deep Johnny Cash or Roy Orbison voice, definitely a mature sound that is neither progressive nor especially hip. That doesn’t seem to be the point. martinbutlermusic.com

���������������������������������������������������

���������� �������������������������������� ���������������������������������

The Two Man Gentlemen Band ������������������������������

Mascot’s Distance s/t An interesting and eclectic album combining bits of jazz, funk, world beat, folk, and occasional electronica. Acoustic guitars, interesting percussion, a strong low voice that’s not afraid to flip up into a crazy falsetto once in awhile, mixed into a full band on a good rich recording. The funky stuff I could do without, I usually find white American world beat to be a bad idea, but once in awhile a really good song pops out at you on this record. It’s usually the ones where they stop trying too hard with the rhythms and concentrate more on the voice and melody, although they don’t do too badly at smooth jazz either on the first song. Also the Ween-esque strangeness that is “Hear The Laughter” is a good time. Really the best part is the real songwriter songs though, interesting stories told well with a low rich voice. It’s a strange hodgepodge on this album that ends up making sense as a whole, but a good portion of the songs taken on their own can be a bit grating. Take the time to skip around and you’re certain to find something interesting. I probably won’t be putting this on any time soon just to hang out though. That’s always the risk when a band tries to be just a little too creative with their sound. Creative is good, creative and consistent is better. mascotsdistance.com Mick Flannery Evening Train Mick went back to Ireland, and if you’re just now hearing about him for the first time, you seriously missed out. He’s probably one of the most talented songwriters New York has seen in a long time, and while his recordings are amazing, live he would stop a room cold every time. Yes he sounds a lot like Tom Waits, but he’s 21. Tom Waits sounded like his influences at 21 too. Regardless, Evening Train is a beautiful album. We reviewed the three song demo for this last issue, so I won’t get overly specific again, but suffice it to say this full length exceeded our expectations. It is a concept album, telling the story of two brothers both trying to catch the last train out of their small town. Alcoholism, gambling debts, lovers’ betrayals, and the futility of trying to turn your life around are the stuff of great tragedy. Combine this with a gruff and powerful voice, and melodies that move effortlessly from pure hope to utter despair at the turn of a note, and you have yourself a timeless piece that should not have been written by a 21 year old. Did I mention that the songs are amazingly catchy and practically demand that

you raise your glass and sing along? The liner notes narrate the story between the lyrics too, allowing you to sit down somewhere comfortable, put this on and get lost in the story. Something I seriously recommend you do. Soon. mickflannery.com Miller Farrell 3-Song Demo The songs are great, the production’s fine, but where’d the accent come from? When Miller Farrell speaks, he sounds very much the native New Yorker, but his singing makes him out to be one of those faux New Wave Brits from out of the eighties. In fact, Miller’s demo sounds very much like Ric Ocasek. There are worse models, and Miller lives up to that poppy influence. When he plays live and alone, though, Miller adds a more energetic element to what’s available on this demo. Here, with full band instrumentation, the Cars connection seems stronger, which works if he’s trying to get gigs on the almost-oldies circuit, but not as fair a representation of what this fine singer/ songwriter is about. There’s a strange production glitch on the last track, “So True.” The lead guitar falls out of rhythm for part of the bridge. It comes back in quickly, but it’s a little disconcerting. Maybe there’s an artistic point to it that I’m missing, but I doubt it. It’s a shame, because it mars the coda, featuring a pretty cool lyric: “Why should I be so true to you when you make me feel so black and blue?” Other than that momentary lapse, the band sound on this demo is good, but he’s probably better live. myspace.com/millersongs The Morningsides s/t 7” RiYl Records A 7”, yay! And on green marble vinyl, double yay! Of course my record player is broken, making me not cool enough for my own standards. A member of this band described them as a chocolate coated Pavement, or The Monkees covering Edgar Allen Poe. It’s hard to get a feel for a band from two songs, especially when the songs are as far apart as these two are. Summer Song is a catchy up beat rock n roll tune of the Chuck berry gone indy rock variety, while “A Mole Hill Is A Mound” is more plodding and thoughtful with a variety of influences melding together. Take the bass line from “Under the Boardwalk,” with an equally sixties guitar, while artsy keyboard noises come in randomly once in a while in the back ground and the voice sounds like a lazy Seattle singer being a little bitter but welladjusted about it. I would say this 7” is a bit predictable as far as indy rock goes, but these are both enjoyable songs of the genre. I’d be curious to hear a full length from these guys and see what comes in between the two extremes, and see where else they take their music. Side note-- singer and label founder Chris Maher plays solo with a back up band called the Post Modern Lovers. Cool on so many levels. themorningsides.com riylrecords.com

The Paula Ouça & Escute Well, I don’t know what the hell this guy is singing about. There are lyrics up on the guy’s website, but they’re in Portuguese, and they’re embedded in pictures, so I can’t translate them using all the tools the web affords. Damn foreigners. Of course, it’s some of that foreign-ness that makes this release so appealing. Abandoning his successful mid-90s Brazilian rock project Virna Lisi, Marcelo de Paula’s opted to start anew as The Paula (a rough translation of his last name. Does he know it sounds effeminate in English?) which is him, his band, the whole shmegeggi. “Ouca &Escute” (in English: Hear and Listen) is his debut release, and it sounds great. The best two cuts are “Só Lamente uma Vez” and “Santo Ofício,” which could well be about Herman Hesse and oral fixations, respectively. I mean, who knows? “Só Lamente uma Vez” repeats the phrase “Só Lamente” in its chorus, which sounds like something of a call to arms. “Santo Ofício” also has a repeated word, “foi.” I think it means “I’m going to,” and then lists a bunch of stuff. Rhythm is emphasized in all these tracks, and the hooks are strong enough to make you want to sing along, even if you have no idea what you’re saying. But the not knowing what you’re saying is a fascinating phenomenon. How often have you hummed along to some catchy tune until you hear the real words (“You’re telling me ’Papa Don’t Preach’” is really an anti-abortion screed? Say WHAT?”)? With The Paula’s work, you can remain to your dying days blissfully ignorant of what he’s saying. I mean, who the hell speaks Portuguese anyway? I guess you could always ask him … Whatever. These songs sound great. I love what he’s singing, even if I don’t know what it is. thepaula.com.br/ Poor Boy Johnson & The Goddamn Rattlesnake Ressuressurection You know, I really wanted to like this album, being the first example of this throwback bluegrass/folk/country/ blues played by crusty punk kids that’s been going around. I have to be honest though, this band is not the best example. People always need to remember that if you’re being grating or obnoxious, even if it’s on purpose, that’s still how you’re going to sound. The biggest problem with this album is Poor Boy Johnson’s voice, which pretty much makes it unlistenable. For comparison, picture that noise Jim Carrey made in “Dumb and Dumber” when he was showing off the most annoying sound in the world. He sings like that, nasally, whiny, and constant. It’s too bad because without that this wouldn’t be so bad. Sure the playing is a little sloppy, but that’s all in good fun, and The Goddamn Rattlesnake (an awesome name) sings with a good tough enjoyable growl. The sound has the energy you’d expect from punk kids playing music like this. I think without the terribly obnoxious voice this could actually be pretty fun. The other thing is they really play up the “country bumpkin” thing in their music, and live they look and dress the part. I feel like I want to remind them that we all know they’re

g rw e i t t c t h e n

gretchenwitt.com

Sunday, October 16th, 8:00 p.m. Rockwood Music Hall FREE and with the band!

Friday, Oct. 28th The Postcypt Cafe at Columbia U. 9:00 p.m. cost TBA (but not much) solo acoustic

CD available at towerrecords.com, cdbaby.com, and folkweb.com

from Brooklyn. Who do they think they’re kidding? [email protected] Brian Speaker Revolution of One Brain Speaker has put together a captivating collection of original compositions and exciting performances on Revolution of One. The CD is chock full of great guitar work and lyrics that say something different with each listen. Add to that Brian’s always effortless voice, and the welcome keyboard from time to time—such as the memorable intro to “Goodbye Lorraine.” “The Ride” has some passionate singing and surprisingly well executed string arrangement, and you can lose yourself in the lush opening track “Independence (Wonderland).” Whatever you do, go get Revolution of One, because if “Poison” doesn’t get to you, something on this album will. brianspeaker.com Tim Emmerick and Coldfront County s/t Tim Emmerick has a fantastic voice to match some equally solid songwriting. It reminds me a lot of old Swingin’ Utters or Lucero with a touch of Jawbreaker. Basically punk influenced rootsy americana rock that is bound to mention Memphis in the lyrics a few times. His voice sounds strong, gruff and strained in just the right way, and his lyrics are honest and emotional. I like music like

this where the melodies are distinctly American with their roots in country, but the music is solid garage rock, although Tim is not afraid to strip down the sound and the tempo on a few of the songs, opening with a lighter piano track, giving it an intimate feeling too. It’ short at 6 songs, and becomes one of those albums I can’t help but put on repeat and listen to a few times. Put a good sound with infectious melodies and I’m hooked. Definitely check this guy out if you like punk americana, country, or folk. Did I mention his voice? Fantastic. myspace.com/timemmerick Toshi Reagon Have You Heard Righteous Babe Records This is an amazingly soulful album. Toshi combines gospel, soul, blues, and rock, all done mostly acoustic. My personal favorites were the last two tracks where she used a delicate high voice over a long slow acoustic riff for an eerie sound reminiscent of the song played by the Robert Johnson character by the campfire in “O Brother Where Art Thou.” She’s got some power too, opening with a bang and a crashing acoustic guitar on the title track. Her exuberance and love for music shine through the whole album in the way she mixes genres and doesn’t skip on the energy. The big smiling picture on the cover tells you instantly what you’re in store for. While most of the songs stay close to love themes, there is a larger spiritual sense carried in the passionate way she sings them, and in what she implies behind what she’s saying, living up to her Gospel routes. I could do without some of the more modern R & B sounding songs, which are a bit over bearing and break the earthy soulful mood for me despite still being mostly acoustic. But overall this is a mature album from a seasoned performer and songwriter who hasn’t lost any of the freshness that comes from an obvious love for the music she’s creating. toshireagon.com righteousbabe.com The Two Man Gentlemen Band s/t Serious Business Records For a schtik band, this is a lot of fun. Upbeat, not very serious and full of pep, they sound like their mission is simply to have a good time and make their audience do the same. They wear old time looking suits, complete with brimmed hats and names like S. Andy Bean and The Councilman, and

match a banjo with a stand up bass to produce a simplified old school bluegrass sound. Did I mention the kazoos hung around their necks with coat hangers? The dueling solos they take on those kazoos might be a bit much. I think that’s the idea though, and I have to admit, it’s fun. As usual with a band like this, I find myself hoping that these guys might eventually dig a little deeper and see if they can make something larger and more meaningful lest they somehow end up as the world’s first bluegrass college party joke band. The lyrics are pretty funny and at times ridiculous while the music is pretty consistently high energy, adding to the sense that nothing too serious is happening, but if you want to lighten up you can have a real good time with these guys. I think the fact that they included a frantic 40 second instrumental piano track called “Hat Fight!” pretty much sums up what’s going on. two-man-gentlmen-band.com the Wowz Long grain Rights RiYL Records This is an interesting album, with almost too much going on for me to classify simply. Lets say modern Strokesish indy rock, with a Grateful Dead feel, especially in the Harmonies, combined with a little bit of early Beatles, and some folky roots behind those electric guitars. The real trick to it is how they combine the folkiness with the rock n’ roll in a way I’ve never heard before, where they blend together well, but each component remains distinct at all times. More like a well shaken vinaigrette than a mayonnaise. Beyond just the cleverness of the sound though is the fact that the music is really good. These are well crafted songs with strong melodies and nice arrangements, on an album that is well constructed, moving fluidly from song to song and sound to sound in what appears to be a consciously constructed journey which was well thought out. The production behind all this is clever and smooth. Maybe it’s just because I wasn’t expecting to hear Grateful Dead harmonies from a band who looked like they were going to be indy rock hipsters, but for whatever reason this album struck me in an unexpected way. I can’t help but listen to it repeatedly now trying to understand out what the hell they’re up to, happy enough to hear it the whole time. thewowz.com riylrecords.com